


Romp & Scuttle

by kaelio



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Regression, Gen, General Low-Stakes Doofery, Humor, Miles O'Brien Didn't Want "Rascals" To Happen Again, but it did, sucker, ultimately everyone being nice to one another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelio/pseuds/kaelio
Summary: The O'Briens are charged with the care and keeping of some of their fellow station residents after a tachyon disruption sunders them from their conventional place in time. Odo, Julian, and Garak are not quite themselves? The stakes are minimal, and time is not especially of the essence. This is the sort of thing when, taken statistically, is practically mundane for all concerned. It's not even a mind prison! Which is not to say that this is something Miles wanted, precisely. Keiko's pretty jazzed, though.





	1. House & Home

**Author's Note:**

> There's probably no place in the canon timeline where this fits and makes sense. I don't care at all.

It doesn’t really matter why these things happen.

“The mission itself went perfectly,” Jadzia explained. “They acquired all the necessary samples. No contamination. Not that they’d have gone without the cure Julian had developed, anyway.” She threw up a theatrical hand. “But you know how it is! It turns out that there were some remnant tachyon emissions from an experimental Romulan vessel which had gone adrift after a predictably catastrophic failure of their newly-engineered nacelles—you know they never tell us about these things—and the shuttle’s autopilot steered straight into it. We’ve requested a formal apology for whatever it’s worth, but in the meanwhile….”

“Yeh, same as always,” Miles replied. Jadzia’s communication had most inconveniently interrupted the O’Brien evening meal. He granted his porkchop (and family) a single, longing glance as he nevertheless kept his attention—_most_ of his attention—on the small viewscreen, presently dominated by the face of his superior officer. “So what d’ya need from me? Help rigging something together like I did on the Enterprise-D?”

Jadzia smiled. “I think I’ve got a handle on a compensating tachyon emitter. It’ll take a day or two, but nothing I haven’t successfully wrangled once or twice before. But the Enterprise-D incident, I admit, is why I thought of you.”

His eyes narrowed into a squint, his lips slightly pursed. Nothing ever came after a cute opening like that. “Oh, and what’s that?”

“You’re uniquely experienced to handle our three suddenly-young ones,” Jadzia reminded him. And _now_ it was a grin.

“Awwh,” was his succinct reply. “_Dax,_ that was different! That was my wife!”

“Miles!” (That was Keiko’s quick interjection, issued from the table.)

“But honey!” he pressed, looking over his shoulder. “This is another t’ing entirely! Tachyon interference like that, they’re all the way displaced, everyt’ing from the past. Am I right, Dax? Am I right?”

Jadzia nodded as if it were a confession. Caught just a little naughty.

“Well?” Keiko asked pointedly.

“It means they’re not going to have their _memories_, not like you did. It’ll be three more kids around. We’re being asked to babysit!”

“That’s all right, isn’t it?” Keiko answered calmly. She stood to join her husband in front of the communications screen. “We’ve helped out other parents before. And it’s sweet for Molly to have playmates. Goodness knows, there aren’t many children on the station. I think it will be good for her.”

“Sweetheart,” Miles whined. “Odo and Julian are one thing, and that’s bad enough. But Garak?”

(Jadzia let it play out. Centuries, centuries of wisdom in it.)

Keiko placed her hands on her hips. “But like you said, it’s _not_ Garak. It’s just a child.”

“He’s—!”

“We had Rugal here”—and _this_ was sharp—“and he was perfectly well-behaved. You even liked him.”

“Yes dear, _but—”_

“And I don’t see any reason this would be any different. Besides, Garak’s always been the very picture of politeness. I’ve even had him tend some of my plants, then and again, when I’m off the station.”

That took him aback. “What?”

She sighed. “The ones I can’t trust you to keep alive.”

(And Jadzia let it play out. Centuries, centuries of barefaced rubbernecking in it.)

“Ah, sweetie, but come on! We can take Odo, and Julian, but why not someone else for Garak? We’ve only got two sets of eyes! And we’ve got the _baby_. Keiko!” He held out his palms.

She took a step closer to him. “If Odo were still in his right shape, I could see it, or Julian, obviously. But Garak doesn’t have many friends on the station. We certainly can’t foist him off on one of the Bajorans, that would be just asking for trouble. Dax is busy getting this mess resolved, and I don’t think he’s a good fit for the Captain. Rom’s a dear, but I gave him a cactus and it was dead in two weeks.”

One could hear the air hiss between Miles’ teeth as he inhaled. “But Keiko, the _baby._”

“I’ll take care of the baby,” she replied smoothly.

“Besides,” Jadzia added, finally reintroducing herself, “Odo’s just in his unconsolidated state. Goopy. It’s too long ago for him to know how to assume a form with which we can communicate. Okay, coming clean here: we’ve actually got him in a stasis box we confiscated after Verad’s gang came on the station. It might seem a little cruel, but given the current political climate, we can’t have an unsecured Changeling running _completely_ amok.”

“See, Miles?” Keiko added. “It’s really just the two. And they’re such good friends, I’m sure it’ll be no trouble at all.”

It was Miles’ turn for a quick jab. “They’re not _friends_ in the past, Keiko. It’s two kids. Strangers. Maybe Julian’s a complete pain in the arse, royal turd, did you ever consider that?”

“That’s also what you said about him when you met him just a few years ago.”

“An’ I stand by it!”

Keiko shrugged. “Maybe you should give Garak the same chance, then. Cardassians do take their manners very seriously. Him as a child? I bet he’s a _treasure_, just a delight.”

“Him bein’ a _tit _is not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

He pointed at a gray mass on the couch. “Well—well, what if he eats Chester?!”

“I’ll have Worf escort them to your quarters,” Jadzia chimed in. “Have fun, you two!”


	2. Dropoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiddos get dropped off.

“You’re a little late,” Keiko said. It was more inquisitive than condemnatory. She held Kirayoshi in her arms, safely bundled and asleep. She had hoped to have him in bed before the trio of new wards arrived.

Worf scowled. One of his hands held the collar of Garak’s overshirt, and firmly. “There were complications.”

There was no avoiding it, this much Miles knew. Some things in life were fated. Even so, it took considerable effort to rise from the couch and greet whatever it was that this day had planned for him. Even by Miles O’Brien standards, this task had all the hallmarks of what his grandmother would have called a “doozy”. “Oh, what happened, then?” he asked.

“_This_ one,” Worf said, tipping his head towards Garak, “must be watched. It took ten minutes for me to find where he was hiding in the holding room.”

“Ten minutes doesn’t seem so bad,” Keiko wondered aloud.

“The room was empty.”

“_Keiko,_” Miles whined, again. He’d tried it a few times in the interim, to no avail.

Keiko ignored him and smiled down at Garak. “He’s just worried, is all. There’s nothing to be afraid of here, all right?”

And the young Cardassian boy said nothing—not a word.

“I’m strong, I can pick up rocks,” the other boy announced.

“Hello, Julian,” Miles muttered.

She smiled at him, too. “That’s impressive, Julian! You’ll definitely have to demonstrate. But first, is there anything else you need?”

The bridge of his nose crinkled. “Where are my mom and dad?”

“They’re on Earth,” she explained. “This is a space station. We’ve let them know where you are.”

“We have not let them know where he is,” Worf interrupted.

Her gaze could have curdled concrete. “They _know_ that their _son _is on Deep Space 9.”

“Ah,” Worf said. “Yes. Accurate.”

“And no one knows who your family is,” Miles said to Garak.

If it was possible, a gray face went grayer.

“Miles!” She pushed Yoshi into her husband’s hands, and then bent down to face the young Garak more directly. “It’s just that you’re a secretive person. You are my friend, but I do not know your mother or your father, so we haven’t had the means to inform them of what’s happened. But you are safe.”

“How much have you told them?” Miles asked Worf.

“I can run fast, too,” Julian volunteered.

Worf sighed. “They have been informed that they were subject to an experience which has separated them from the timestream, and they have been informed that the matter is temporary. However, they are children. Tachyon interference has a high probability of being unfamiliar to either.”

“You don’t know?” Miles asked.

“_This_ one”—which clearly meant Garak again—“has been silent. A good change. Perhaps when he returns, he will remember it as a virtue.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Miles replied wearily. “I suppose it’s all in order, then. We’ll take them and—ah, and where’s Odo?”

Worf gestured to the box under his arm. “He is here.”

“In there?” Miles prodded. “Well, set him where you’d like, I suppose. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I am taking him to Quark for safekeeping.”

“To Quark?!”

“Quark will not let him out of his sight. And he definitely will not let him out.”

“What makes you think I would?” There was a twinge of incredulity, the notion that he’d disobey an order, even to free a comrade-in-arms.

“Not you. Potentially Keiko, as mothers can be… sentimental.”

Keiko shot him a glare, one he pointedly ignored. Miles was dubious of Worf’s understanding, but he chalked it up to age and… inexperience.

“But it is truly Garak I am concerned about. He has twice been observed tinkering with doors. It would be unwise to leave him in the presence of any important locked object.”

Garak’s eyes, blue and clear, met Keiko’s. Though they were a color cold as ice, she could feel herself melt, just a little, how dear he looked. So small. “A young Cardassian boy’s first impulse would probably be to escape from Federation officials. Particularly if he found himself on a station that looks like it ought to be Cardassian. I think that’s very reasonable. But Garak, you have nothing to be afraid of. We’re going to have a wonderful time while Jadzia works on getting you better.”

Julian tugged on Worf’s free hand. “Do Cardassians like Klingons?”

The large man winced. “Regardless, we must keep peace at a smaller scale.”

Miles stepped away from the door. “Well, let’s get this over with. Come on, you two.”

Julian went willingly, and Garak conceded, with the aid of a soft push.

“Let me know if you need the assistance of… security,” Worf offered.

“We’ll be _fine,_ Worf. Just let us know when you need them,” Keiko reassured him. “Trust me, Miles is an expert at these things.”

“No I’m not!”


	3. Anomaly

“So you’re telling me _he’s_ in _there_.”

“If you are concerned that this is a ‘birthday surprise’, I assure you, I would not subject even you to such an indignity,” Worf assured him.

Quark pointed an informative finger at him. “_And_ it’s not my birthday. Not for another week.”

“I fail to see where that fact would be of interest to me,” Worf countered, unwilling to admit—even in the private recesses of his mind—that he would now be seeking a gift, and was certain to offer one. There would be time to bemoan the absurdities of human culture at some other time, but for respect to the Rozhenkos, he would be no defector.

“Won’t he be, you know,” Quark inquired, making a subtle hand gesture, “a little peeved we’ve kept him in the time-out box?”

“Stasis box.”

“_—Stasis box. _Especially if our doctor was instead eating grub mash and playing sink-the-log in bog water? Ah, to be a child again…. That’s the dream. My Moogie—”

Worf snorted. “I imagine he will forgive us. Besides, the tachyon pulse seems to have reverted those affected to consistent ages.” There had been some discussion of that, admittedly. True, Bashir and Garak appeared to have arrived at the same life-stage, but no one knew for certain exactly how old Garak had been to start. The assumption was “over thirty”, but Worf had endured the same conjecture for many years before Commander Riker blew the lid. “This would set him in advance of his discovery. He would have no context for interaction with solids. It would likely be… disorienting.”

Quark’s ample brow furrowed. “So he’s basically a Tzenketh pudding.”

“I do not indulge in ‘pudding’, but as you say. With Odo unable to fulfill his assigned duties, I must temporarily take charge of Security. That is why he is being left with you. I _will_ expect regular reports. And the report will contain: ‘Odo is in the box’.”

“And what exactly is my compensation for this?” Down to brass tacks. “You know, I’m a working man, Worf.”

He’d been waiting for it. The subject was inevitable whenever Quark was involved. “A bar of latinum.”

“A bar!” Extravagant pay for a small job. “Two.”

“One bar. Two slips.”

“It’s a deal!”

//

“Hi.” Molly did have a way with words.

“Hi,” said Julian, who was up for the challenge.

And Garak said nothing at all.

Keiko urged the children towards the center of the room with a broad, welcoming sweep of her arm. “Come on, everyone. Let’s have a sit-down and get introduced.” A sight shot to Miles: “You too, dear.”

“Awwh, do I _have_ to?”

“Miles, really!” she admonished. “Try to set a good example for them, won’t you?”

Molly and Julian had promptly settled on the sofa on the near end of the coffee table. Molly pointed at Julian to close his legs. “It’s more polite,” she informed him.

Miles took the lone chair, then glared at Garak.

“You too, honey,” Keiko crooned, her aura far warmer. (And Cardassians did love all things warm.) “You can sit anywhere you’d like.”

Garak worked his lips between his teeth. He selected a route—a wide loop around the perimeter. It was a slow and careful assessment, tentative. At the end, he settled underneath one of Keiko’s potted plants, semi-hidden by its silhouette and abundant fronds.

“A-all right. Now, my name is Keiko. I am married to Miles, over here on this side. Molly is our daughter. The baby is Kirayoshi. We’re a family here on the station. The station is Deep Space 9. It used to be called Terok Nor, when it was a Cardassian facility. The Cardassians gave it to us as a present.”

That had garnered Garak’s attention and obvious skepticism. The prospect was alluring: that the architecture was indicative of a friendly relationship. (But what were the odds of _that?_)

Julian, meanwhile, was manually adjusting his legs. It had not occurred to him that there were more or less polite leg configurations, and now he was determined to investigate.

“We know both of you,” Keiko continued, deliberately ignoring her husband’s predictively scrunched expression. “You are friends of ours. Normally you’re adults. You’re our age. However, a space anomaly—”

“Anemone?”

“I eat anemone,” said Molly. She tried out the word, testing it on her tongue. “A-mem-omee.”

“Anomaly. A phenomenon. Something weird that happens, sometimes, when you’re traveling in the galaxy. Anyway, a space anomaly has affected both of you,” she continued. This was a teacher’s patience. “Another friend of yours is working to have that fixed, and it will be fixed very soon, and you will go back to normal.”

Two frowns on the young boys—each for a different reason.

“We’ve agreed to take care of ‘yeh in the meantime,” Miles interjected. This was the patience of an engineer—another animal entirely. “So it’s going to be a little bit of playtime, probably bed. And then tomorrow sometime we’ll have the inversion pulse ready to go and we can all get back to work.” He neglected the mention the stage where he’d be having a one-two-three of Scotch or, worst-care scenario, a handle of Romulan ale.

Keiko pressed her hands together. “I know that it’s scary for you boys, but I hope we can still have some fun.”

“S’not scary,” Julian replied. “M’not scared. I can even see the doctor and I’m not scared.”

“Julian, you _are_ a doctor,” Miles said.

Julian shook his head. “I don’t like doctors. I like badminton!”

Keiko laughed. “Julian, you are actually a doctor. You’re the station’s chief medical officer.”

He stood up on the couch, his arms raised triumphantly. “I’m the chief!”


	4. Lovely Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun activities.

“Well!” Quark said, gripping the cube in his hands. This was a special treasure (limited resale value, he supposed, but a treasure even nevertheless). “Well, well, well, Odo. All this effort you’ve spent trying to nab me, and look who has who confined?”

He shot a glance—a narrow squint—over his shoulder. “Not that it’ll last.”

Quark sighed. “What in ten moons am I supposed to _do_ with you? Just watch a box all day? Is that what Worf takes me for; is that the limit of my value, as far as he’s concerned?”

(It was.)

His tone became increasingly wounded. “He doesn’t respect me. I’m a _businessman._ I’m a _therapist._ Without me”—he released a small puff of breath, punctuated with splayed fingers—"boom. This entire station. No one could keep their minds, and that’s a fact! I invested in _holodecks._ My drinks are 99.4% contaminant-free. But does anyone thank poor, generous Quark? No. And ‘poor’ is right, with all I do, bleeding myself out for these ungrateful—!”

He prodded the lid of the box. “Not that you’d have any idea! No lust for adventure, no taste for inebriants! You’d thank me, if you had even the foggiest idea, the foibles of ‘mortal men’. But there you are, a perfectly-formed little Tzenketh pudding. To you, not a bit of difference between the Divine Treasury and the Vault of Eternal Destitution. What’s it to you? You can be your own wealth. Take the shape of any commodity you desire. Latinum, even. Pure-strain latinum just like that.” He snapped his silver-tipped fingers.

His hands, bunched into fists, found themselves at his waist, akimbo. “Sorry to say, your talent is unique to your _unenlightened_ people. I’ll have to bribe my way into the Treasury, like any respectable entrepreneur.” He nose—if possible—added a few crinkles. “_Now,_ I have a bar to run. But I can’t exactly leave you here, not with Worf breathing down my neck. … What do you say, Odo? I’ll give you a bit of old-time levity and sneak a minor into the bar.”

And the box said nothing—not even a harrumph.

Quark was, if anything, a little disappointed.

//

Unlike Miles, Keiko had a full head of hair—provided she could keep herself from tearing it out, handful by handful.

“Come on, now. Come on,” she beckoned. “We’re coloring. Look! It’s coloring crayons. You know crayons? Do you have that on your world, coloring crayons?”

Two blue eyes peered from behind the greenery, still and silent.

She turned to Miles. “Are you _sure_ you confirmed that his U.T. is installed and functional?”

Miles tightened his arms around Kirayoshi protectively. “Yes, yes! He can hear you, dear. And it’s Molly’s favorite pastime, and Julian’s damn well into it, but Cardassians probably put you on trial for those shades of green.”

“Miles!”

“_Wot?_”

She prodded him with the end of an orange crayon, threatening to make him just a little more ginger. “I won’t have that kind of talk! Now, I’m going to go put Yoshi to bed.” She reached for the baby. “And _you’re_ going to try to make some headway here, if you think you’re so wise to Cardassian culture, just because they tried you for war crimes!”

The small Garak in the plants raised one incredulous gray brow.

(Nonetheless, in silence.)

“Aw, Keiko, c’mon, aw, Keiko!” he implored, gently trying to maintain his hold of the baby. And failing. “I don’t know anything about kids, little gray kids. We’ve got paper and crayons and he doesn’t want a single part of it, and why not let him sit it out? What, you think he’s going to be impressed back when it’s Garak proper? They’re all so stuffy about their art—and he’s the worst! He’ll be downright insulted at himself, making anything sub-par, wee tot.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re not _toddlers._ Now, be a friend.”

“He’s really _your_ friend.”

“Miles! You said he can _hear _you!” She turned her attention to Garak, or at least the plant disguising him. “He’s just being a twit, Garak. We’re all friends here. Yes, he’s a little more _complicated_ than some, but I promise: you’re safe.”

Julian continued doodling bugs, awkwardly.

Molly had no such reservations and scribbled away, her paper a forest of color.

The chief scooted up towards the coffee table. He sat on his knees, achieving the ideal height. “Fine, then. I’ll show him.” He pulled a piece of white paper from the stack, set it in front of himself, and started mapping out a circuit in neon blue.

“It’s rectangles and squiggles,” Julian observed. “Can’t you draw something real? Look, I made twenty-one… Twenty…. Twenty-two ladybugs. And they’re red like they ought.”

“Julian, every single second you talk to me…,” Miles began, “I can tell you’re Julian. You’re one-hundred percent Julian. To the core of your being, you’re Julian.” He hoped that an adult Bashir would retain the memories of these odd hours. He knew _that_ Bashir would know what he meant.

“Garak, do you know a ladybug?” Julian asked, holding up his drawings. (Twenty-two red dots, with black dots inside.) “It’s a bug and they live on roses. They live on all the roses and keep them safe.”

Sadly, the cautious figure seemed willing to ignore him. It scrutinized Miles, whose drawings it could not discern from its nesting place among the foliage. It lacked the appropriate vantage.

Very slowly, and quiet as the stars, Garak crept out from behind the fronds and approached the table. He passed a subtle side-eye towards Miles’ diagram.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Miles retorted, bringing his arm around the block Garak’s view. “State secrets.”

Garak crossed his arms, and looked very cross himself. He puffed his cheeks like a little toad.

“Here, you can draw,” Miles said, directing his gaze to the stack of drawing paper. “And if you do, I’ll let you see the diagram. It doesn’t matter. Once you’re big, you know all this anyway. You’re a talented engineer in your own right.”

Garak tightened into a ball, looking quite humiliated.

Julian held up his ladybugs again. “Look, now there’s twenty-five. That’s one-fourth of one hundred. That’s what they said and it’s a fact.”

Molly shook her head disdainfully. “You all should be working.”

Working? Garak hadn’t heard it presented quite that way. His nostrils flared, just slightly, taking in the scent of stale station air. He then pointed at a teal crayon that was currently lying next to Miles’ empty hand.

Miles nodded. “Go for it.”

Garak pointed at it more urgently.

“Wot, you want me to pick it up?”

Garak’s gaze remained serious and fixed.

Miles picked up the crayon, precisely as directed. “You can have this, if you’d like to color. You want it?”

Instead, the boy took Miles’ forearm by the wrist and directed the crayon slowly—slowly—upward until it touched Miles’ lips. He moved it around a little, prodding the corners of Mr. O’Brien’s mouth.

That deserved a classically furrowed Miles O’Brien frown, and it was willingly provided. “The crayon? It’s not poison, Garak.”

A gray hand took the wax stick from his and investigated it carefully.

(Even Miles saw something sad about that.)

“If you’re doing ladybugs, you need red,” Julian informed him, although uncharacteristically softly. Not quite so demanding. It was, for a bold child, meaningfully uncertain. “You can have my red, if you want, to make your own. I bet you can make a hundred.”

Garak pulled a blank sheet of paper from the middle of the stack and set it squarely in front of him, lined up with the edge of the table. He took the crayon and began filling in the sheet, tiny stroke by tiny stroke, and all of it in teal. No gaps, no shapes, no goal—it seemed—but to render the paper in teal.

Julian looked towards Miles for answers. That was _not_ how drawing was done.

“Just let him do what he wants,” Miles said. “Let him draw what he likes. It’s art, Julian. There’s no right way to do it.”


	5. Top Shelf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner time, bar time.

He raised it with reference. “There you go. Top-shelf.”

He further rearranged a number of swirly, stout, occasionally elaborate, but overall _expensive_-looking bottles (all filled with dreck—what was the point, fine reserves in a war?) around it. He opted for a few neon-colored selections on each side, with a slightly less-colorful handful resting delicately on top. The stasis box looked entirely at home among the other bizarre, and mysteriously alluring, vessels.

“No one will touch you up there without my knowing. Not a soul ever has,” Quark promised the thing. “And how about this?” he said, pointing to his Ferengi PADD, “According to this, you’re seven strips a shot. I haven’t had a dabo table pay out that well in three weeks. Safe and sound: that’s simple economics. And from up there, you can even see how _diligently_ I run this bar. Your very first memory of solids: hardworking, honest Quark. As the humans say: you can put that in your dick and smoke it!”

(And lo, not a single grumble.)

Quark gave the most readily available corner a loving pat. “There you are. Just like Nog, when he was a little grub. That’s the Ferengi way: bring your children to work, soon as you can. Rule of Acquisitions #6 and #9: Never allow family to stand in the way of opportunity; and opportunity plus instinct equals profit. So given you stay put up on the shelf, I’d say I’m halfway to a handful already!”

He paused awkwardly. “Provided I saw you as family. Which is, given _my_ family, almost a little insulting.”

Quark wagged a finger at the box. “No, if you were a member of _my_ family, we’d be rich beyond imagination! Can you even conceive of it, your profit potential? You, a changeling? Going anywhere, being anything? The potential is…. Well, I’ll admit, Odo, I’ve thought it over, once or twice. An Odo in the hand is worth a Rom… any amount of Roms.”

His eyes scouted over the empty bar. “Speaking of which, he’s at least an hour late. We’re set to open in just another two. Really, as soon as he started consorting with _females…._”

From the deepest, darkest corner of the stasis box, Quark—with his magnificent ears—thought he heard just the tiniest harrumph.

//

“Keiko. Keiko. There’s no way in th’ world. No way in the solar system. No way in the broadest expanse of th’ universe,” Miles said, “that he’s going to eat a single bite. So just let him be.”

“He’s got to _eat_, Miles. We’re not going to let a child go _hungry._”

“We aren’t, dear. But he is. And that’s his right.”

She seethed over a forkful of limp kelp salad. “Honey, he’s a _child._ And look at him. Doesn’t he _look_ hungry?”

“Frankly, dear, he’d be ten thousand times more likely to eat if he weren’t. He thought the bloody crayon was poison. He’s not going to drink zabu stew or eat a Larish pie. You could give him a meter-high stack of fresh fish filets and he’d turn up his little nose, and there he goes at it.”

Julian scooted his replicated chicken pot pie towards his companion in temporal displacement. “We can trade if you want.” It was a generous offer in that it was a very nice chicken pot pie, and a very dire-smelling thing that Garak had, this counterpart, this “Larish pie”, which, based on smell alone, seemed to be made of boot polish and crawfish paste.

Garak, who—just as Miles attested—had indeed been turning up his nose, looked over to Julian in wonderment and… yes, there it was, the same unqualified skepticism that seemed, by this point, rote.

He pulled the chicken pot pie towards his setting and passed the Larish pie to Julian. It was accompanied by a polite nod and a look of cautious gratitude.

“I told you he was hungry,” Keiko whispered to Miles.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t!”

Garak looked to the two of them, then down at the pie, and then back up to the O’Briens.

“Go on, Garak. It’s a traditional Earth recipe. You might not like it, but I’ve seen you enjoy other foreign foods. Relish them, even! It’s certainly worth a try,” Keiko answered him reassuringly. She finished off a pinch worth of her salad. “And if it doesn’t suit your fancy, we’ll be happy to make you something else. We still have all sorts of just scrumptious Cardassian recipes in our replicator array.”

With that encouragement, Garak lowered the chicken pot pie to the floor, where it was immediately set upon by an eager and opportunistic Chester, who cared very little for family politics, but cared very much for a gravy. Garak then mutely seized Miles’ plate of tikki masala. He bore it through the air like a prize and a challenge.

Miles laughed. “Go for it. Warning yeh, though: I always mix in extra cabbage. I don’t know for certain, Cardassian digestion, but two of us were once on a shuttle—a Federation shuttle, not loaded yet with anything from your sort—and you were forced to make do with a plate of good old ‘chicken and waffles’. And sophisticated as you might try to be, didn’t stop you from having to hit the jacks for a few rollicking hours. Raised a terrible din.” The smirk on his face was playful. “‘The jacks.’ Ah, it’s old slang. The toilet. Prbbt. Prbt. Prrrrrbt.”

Molly laughed and began mimicking her father’s faux flatulence.

Julian covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. Only Keiko seemed unamused.

“Prrrrrrbt,” Miles continued. “Frp! Frp frp frpp!”

Garak crossed his arms with ineffectual indignation. He quivered, ever so slightly, in his disgrace.

“Ms. O’Brien,” Julian asked, “May I have another pie? This one, um…. I’m not sure.”

Keiko groaned. “What, now _you’re_ worried it’s poison?”

“Noooo…. Just smells, um. Stinky. Like fish poo.”

Garak shot him a dirty look.

“Ah, picky folks, am I right, Garak?” Miles said. “Probably something we have in common, your ancestors and mine: eatin’ what we’re given. None of this ‘oh, smells like a goat’s arse’. Well, those of us, from leaner histories, we make do. And that tiki masala’s seen a worker through some right shite nightshifts, that’s for sure. In fact, I’m going to go make myself another serving. You’re free to that one, and here’s hoping it suits your fancy as well the same suits mine.”

It earned him a stare that burned. But gears were turning in on scaled head—when were they not?

“Actually, can I have it too?” Julian begged. “What he got? I want it too! Please, please! I want it too!”

Garak presented an unnaturally orange forkful of it to Julian, who admired it with wonder evolving into giddiness. His lips snatched it straight from the silver.

That brought a smile to Keiko’s face, and Molly’s too.

Miles did not, and kept silent his suspicion that what he had just seen was leagues from reciprocity. That, he thought, was the recruitment of a bloody food taster.


	6. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More things happen to the people the story is about.

All teachers have techniques, which Keiko knew as well as anyone. A rowdy class could be tamped down with the right game. A tired class might very well perk up at the promise of sweets. And a class that is driving the teacher completely up a wall with disengagement could be temporarily appeased with a film.  
  
Miles recognized her annoyance, positively characteristic: Keiko walking over to the view screen with an isolinear rod and a big, bright smile. That self-same smile had, all too many times, masked an ire that students were better off not knowing.  
  
It wasn’t the boys’ behavior, not as such. No, more with herself, and her barefaced inability to make Garak play along. The last few minutes had been the worst; Keiko had been laying out an ordinary game of parcheesi, only for the gray-skinned boy to dash to the bathroom and barricade himself inside. By the time Miles punched in the override, Garak was halfway through prying open a door panel under the sink cabinet. If he'd made his way into the walls, she could only have imagined how long it would have taken to suss him out. (Garak, unlike Chester, was unlikely to be coaxed into the open with alluring nibbles of ham.)  
  
A film was a better choice. The boys would watch the video, and she would watch the boys. And if one moved an inch--a single inch--then she was poised to grapple and kindly, lovingly subdue.

Molly viewed it all with blatant disapproval. In her mind, it could largely be ascribed to the nature of boys and their inability to sit still. Hardly an excuse.

“That’s the baby?” Julian asked, pulling a fold of fabric from Kirayoshi’s face. “You going to feed him?”

“He’s had his dinner,” Miles, Yoshi’s present handler, explained.

“Don’t bother my brother,” Molly interrupted.

And Julian withdrew and sat on his hands. (It was a familiar scolding, which could be assuaged in a familiar way.)

“It’s all right, Molly. We’re going to watch a movie.” (That was Keiko, pressing buttons.) “Just one moment and it’ll come up. It’s one you like, and the rest of too, I’m sure.”  
  
The selection, of course, was educational. It seemed the most benign option. She knew, from having spoken to Garak (albeit under more conventional circumstances), that he did not much care for Earth media. Beyond that, the behaviors exhibited by humans in their tales might be considered vulgar or offensive to a Cardassian child. It was better to select something that could offend no one and introduce little in the way of confusion.  
  
By her reckoning, the best option was a nature documentary. At that moment, nature meant footage of elk. It was difficult to see how elk could find themselves maligned by any culture.  
  
Julian seemed a tad bored, but Garak did indeed watch with interest—perhaps even a little shock. He focused very much on the antlers, and their role in a clash. What documentarian could ignore the crash of two males driven in combat? Creatures with multi-headed sabers jutting from their heads? Fantastic animals. Difficult to believe.

(Or did he? Believe them, that is?)

“That’s Earth,” Miles said, trying to recall whether it had been explained or simply taken for granted in the film’s introduction. “Our planet, where humans live.”

Garak mouthed the word in silence, as if to test it. (“_Human._”)

“Right. We’re human. Keiko and me. And Molly, and Kirayoshi. … And Julian.”

Garak stared at Chester, who was cleaning himself in the corner, including an obscene presentation of the butthole.

Miles ruminated on his answer. “Not Chester. Chester is also an Earth-thing, though. We’ll probably see one in the video, since there are cats all over the planet, different kinds. Not exactly like Chester, but similar animals.”

“Everyone has seen a cat,” Julian said, somewhat sulkily.

“Not everyone,” Keiko corrected with calm didacticism. “Garak’s from another planet. Cats are Earth animals, what an alien planet will have is something else. Admittedly, I don’t really know much about Cardassian zoology. Come to think of it, I don’t know if they even have animals like cats…. I’ll have to take a look sometime. I only know a small handful of Cardassian animals, and there only agricultural pests. Sometimes we plant specialists can overlook it. Garak, when you’re back to yourself, I’ll ask you for a book or two. It’s something I’d like to see.”

Miles tilted his head, staring at the screen but clearly focused elsewhere. “You know, I bet those dunderheads forgot to tell him a damn—excuse me, dear—a thing. We haven’t even got the first idea how old Garak is, but the Cardassians haven’t been long in contact with us, not like the Romulans anyway. The age he is now, might not have even heard of a ‘Federation’, and I doubt he’d have seen a human. Probably never even heard of it, a ‘human’. Hasn’t got a blasted clue, an’ not his fault in the slightest.”

“Well, why don’t we ask?” Keiko suggested, turning to the boy. “When were you born, Garak?”

“Nah, nah, Keiko, dear. It’s not what he’s about. Besides, I might not be on board, how secretive he is, even given that he and I aren’t exactly rubbing elbows on the regular, but he’s set on keeping that sort of thing from the likes of us and that’s his right. And since he’s taken not to do it in his right mind—being at the right age—then we’ve got no right to plumb him for it now, when he doesn’t know who we are. Probably not even what our lot is about. Just let him be. It’ll all be back in the morning, anyhow.”

It caught her by surprise, and openly. It took only a moment for the embarrassment to catch up. “O-oh, you’re right. Sorry, Garak. But if you have any questions for us, you can ask us, all right?”

Julian, feeling quite ignored, was finally trying to focus on the documentary. Perhaps, one could imagine, if he showed he didn’t want attention, then whatever scrap of attention he did receive was a surfeit, and it would be good enough. (And he sat on his hands to be quiet, and his legs were straight to be polite.)

That was something Garak noticed, and he mimicked the behavior. In so doing, he watched the screen again, and the parade of animals.

Presently, there was discussion of the skunk, an animal with an alarming ability, truly. There was no such creature on Cardassia, provided no one ordered chicken and waffles.

//

“Oh, yes. I’m a very sophisticated man.” He swirled his drink, a mix of Tellar stonepip-water and a truly alarming concoction from old-Earth, insufficiently cautioned to be “Frangelico”.

The green-haired woman gave him a half-cocked eyebrow and little else for his claim.

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Indeed, indeed. I’m a writer, actually. I come here, not for the drinks, but for the_ inspiration_. For the _essence _of culture. How else could I capture the je ne sais quoi of the living experience? And, might I add, where else would I go to encounter women just as captivating?”

She lifted her drink to her lips, so as to hide the act of laughing into it.

He lifted a finger. “Barkeep!”

Rom scuttled over to him, order PADD in hand. “Jake, Jake, g-good to see you. Does your dad know you’re here?”

The young man guffawed with an obvious, telegraphed “haw-haw”. “My father? Oh, my dear father need not get involved. Though,” he clarified, turning towards the object of his present affections, “he is generous to offer, being such an important man. But I should not wish to bother him when he is attending to essential matters of state. No, I am here to be a man in my own right. In fact, I was thinking to order a drink for the lady.”

She grinned. “I’ll have whatever _he’s_ not having.”

Rom tilted his head. “Still got a very g-good deal on kanar, for the cautious wallet. I know your allowance—”

“**_Haw, haw!_**” Jake repeated, somewhat more desperately. “Rom, you are a character! Just a… just a character!” He patted the Ferengi on the shoulder. “Of course, you know me well, and my refined palate that, obviously, extends to the output of many enduring cultures, even those who a less open-minded person would disregard. But thank you, no, we need something top-shelf, like I would normally order. Something, ah, _exotic._” He pointed to the most interesting vessel, one particularly alluring for its being half-hidden. “How about that one?”


	7. No Place for a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake has ordered himself a drink.

“Rom!” The noise was high-pitched, nearly a shriek and definitely a squeal. Rom dropped the box to clasp his hands over his ears, or as much of them as his hands could hope to cover.

“B-Brother! Brother, what?!” he begged, as to a cruel and uncompromising god (and to a Ferengi, one’s boss was at the very least a saint). That tone never foretold well, although—if one were being honest—rarely did the voice. “B-brother, I entered it into the system—no skim, no skim!! I-it’s Vigelian rixnax, i-isn’t it?”

(Rom knew quite well it wasn’t, but the draught was the most expensive in the bar. Quark ought to have been _proud._)

Quark dove for the box, cradling it in his arms, gently as a bar of latinum. He took to his feet in a huff, standing so straight he looked nearly Vulcan. “How could you, Rom? He’s practically a child!”

“Hey.” Jake held up his hands, palms-out.

The green-haired woman coughed half a mouthful of springwine back into her glass.

“Think of it! Just imagine!” Quark’s weight was all on his toes as he loomed over the crouching Rom. “He could have been eaten _alive!_”

Now it was her turn. “Hey!”

Quark gripped the box tightly to his chest. “Unbelievable, just unbelievable! When we’re practically family! All the times I kept valuable objects away from Nog’s mouth as a grub, and here you are, practically lining up the killer shot!”

(Now Jake looked _offended._)

He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “They’re…. It’s a joke, it’s a Ferengi joke, you know? They do, they do this bit, uh…. Would you like to see my ID?”

(Oh, that was _never_ a good line.)

“I did not—I just want to say. I had _no _idea. I’m out, okay, I’m out?” She set her glass down and tugged the neck of her shirt nearly up to her chin. “Sure, _inexperienced, _but I just thought he was being cute. Obviously, if I’d known—”

Jake grabbed her sleeve, begging to keep her fixed. “It’s just a gag! You know, a jape? I’ve had sex, I swear!”

“Good-_bye._” She tugged her sleeve away, though at that point, she’d have shed her skin if it meant an escape. Shed a _limb._ (It would grow back.)

“Legal! Legal sex!”

She was gone.

The young man’s fingers clawed at the air. “Quark! I…. _Quark!?_”

But Jake seemed altogether forgotten in the browbeating. “Indefensible! To do that to a baby, in this tiny, _brief_ window when he’s ignorant and… and vulnerable! Don’t you realize how soon he’ll be just a… just a… just a _bastard?!_”

“Quark.” Jake again. “Quark. I am going to kill you.”

Morn leaned over and patted him, gently, on the back. Lurian sympathies.

“You!” Quark ranted on, pointing to Jake, to Morn, and even to a number of completely uninvolved patrons. “You, all of you! You’ve made this a terrible, just a terrible place for a child!”

“B-brother,” Rom reminded him in an urgent hush, “it’s a _bar_.”

“That’s no excuse!” And his fingers tightened even further on the precious vessel. “Rom! Rom, take over for me. I’m taking _this_ somewhere _safe!_”

Jake mouthed a few choice words he wouldn’t want his father hearing on any station recording.

As Quark scuttled towards the exit, he called over his shoulder, “But don’t forget to water down the drinks!”

“I-I won’t, brother!”

Jake looked at Rom in utter bafflement.

“What?” Rom shrugged. “Everyone knows we do it anyway.”

“Rom,” Jake tried, articulating his point a tad more explicitly, “What was in that box?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Not a clue.”

Rom scratched his head. “Me either.”

“Rom, if you’ve got another baby Jem’Hadar in there….”

“Then it’s not like m-my brother told _me._ He never tells _me_ anything….”

“Perhaps, then,” Jake replied, “It’s up to us to investigate.”


	8. Bring Him Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian could use some moral support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't miss the previous chapter; it went up only about a day ago.

Oh, of course. Of course the documentary would lead in with merry, bulbously-cheeked chipmunks. Of course it would gaily transition into playful otters, industrious beavers, and sweet foxes with long stockings. (And let no one forget skunks, whose very existence seemed a puerile joke—the work of a god with a thoroughly human sense of humor.) How very sensible to have it feature deer with delicate faces and long, thin limbs, and turtles plodding and pleasant. It lulled the viewer, drove them to make peace with Earth—or at least, the biome that the documentary had chosen to showcase.

When elk appeared, they were majestic, almost surreal. When lynx arrived, with softly-padded paws, even then, with saber teeth, they felt alluring, appealing, the texture of a friend.

But then, there were wolves, and though their habits were recounted with a level voice and cautious reverence by a narrator clearly positioned at a safe distance, speed-runners with gruesome fangs and an impressive pack mentality were nothing Garak would welcome in a tussle. An animal revealed itself _not a friend _by such characteristics. Further still, there was the ‘cougar’, an animal that did indeed seem to be a Chester-writ-large, though possessing a sleekness in defiance of its greater frame, and knives-knives-knives at every extremity.

Yet none of those involved quite the same terror as the _bear._ The great _bear_, the grizzly _bear,_ with claws of ten centimeters and teeth to crush any amount of dermal armor that a Cardassian—even an old Cardassian—could present.

A human was indeed a terrifying creature, to introduce the bear with such nonchalance.

Garak, who still sat on his hands, was wide-eyed with amazement.

It was Julian who began to sniffle, and for a moment Garak assumed—all too logically—that it was for fear of what his homeworld had waiting for him should the poor boy ever return.

“Aw, Julian,” Keiko broached, leaning towards the boy, “You all right? How are you feeling?”

He grabbed a pillow and clutched it tightly to himself.

Miles looked between the screen and the boy. “Ah, you missing your bear?”

“You know Kukalaka?” That, in a small and sensitive way, was hopeful. Shyly hopeful.

“Absolut’ly,” Miles assured him. “You brought him with you to the station. Two of you? Never apart. Want me to go get ‘im? Would that make you feel better?”

Julian nodded. It was a relief to admit it, that he wanted a friend that he _knew._

Miles stood, and carefully passed Kirayoshi into Keiko’s arms. “Well, you keep watchin’ the video, and I’ll go fetch the lad, all right? It might take me a moment or two; I’ll have to check with Worf, get permission to enter your quarters. Even with an override, I want everythin’ official, so pardon me if it takes me a touch longer than you’d like. But you’ll have your bear soon as I can, I promise.”

“Good thinking, Miles,” Keiko added, grateful for any recommendation to ease the discomfiture.

(Unfortunately, she ignored that Garak was not whatsoever at ease with the suggestion.)

“Kukalaka? You’ll bring him?”

Miles ruffled his dark hair. “Absolutely. Be back in just a jiff. Half a jiff, if I’m lucky.”

//

“And what can I help you with, Jake?”

“Well,” Jake replied, his arms crossed, “I was sort of looking to find Odo. Quark’s up to something, and I figured, well, if Quark’s up to something, the right person to ask is Odo. But I can’t find him.” Jake had requested Rom’s assistance, too, for that matter, but sadly, there was a bar to tend, and he’d been left without the institutional knowledge of Ferengi very often in trouble. The station was admittedly less familiar, under such circumstances, to a boy who largely played it straight.

Kira’s nose wrinkled (more than usual for a Bajoran, that is to say). “Quark in trouble again?”

“Yeah, he’s got, like, some kind of weird box.” He intentionally ignored the additional detail, ‘_very possibly with a baby inside’._ There was no need to startle anyone. Not before the official story broke, anyhow.

“Computer!” Kira snapped. “Locate ‘Odo’.”

The computer replied, “’ODO’ IS IN QUARTERS HD-TE-23, RESIDENT: ‘QUARK’. ALL INDICATORS CONSISTENT.”

“Seems like he’s beaten you to it.” Kira grinned.

“Can you ask if Quark’s there?” Jake pressed.

She’d gladly indulge. “Computer? Locate ‘Quark’.”

“’QUARK’ IS IN QUARTERS HD-TE-23, RESIDENT: ‘QUARK’. ALL INDICATORS CONSISTENT.”

“There we are, Jake. Sounds like the Constable has everything under control.”

Jake’s breath hissed from between his teeth. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Jake,” Kira replied, almost tiredly, “whatever Quark and Odo are up to, I think it’s best to realize they’re in their own little world.”

That wasn’t good enough. “Well, I’m headed over there. Can’t you come with me?”

Kira pressed several of the buttons in front of her, as if to make a point. “I’m on-shift.”

“Yeah, but I think there’s a baby. In danger. And normally I’d leave that to Odo, but didn’t he… you know, sort of kill the last one?”

Suddenly, her face darkened. There was something affecting there, something harsh and caustic and deeply hurt. “Siila Vo’Keenox!” she barked. “We have an emergency station. Take my position. Jake and I have somewhere to be.”


	9. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian gets Kukalaka.

Miles passed them in the hall. He waved with his free hand; Kukalaka, dear thing, had the use of the other. (After all, the bear was to be held with utmost care—the seams were somewhat thin, and the station’s tailor currently indisposed.)

“Hey, Miles,” Jake said. “Say, what’s that you got?”

“Special delivery, a companion for Piggy,” he replied with a chuckle. “What about you two, what’s got you two out on patrol? Kira, aren’t you scheduled for Ops?”

She brushed a hand in the air. “Oh, you know. Jake’s got a hunch.”

Miles nodded. “Best seek ‘em out, then. That’s my engineer’s gut instinct. Ne’er steered me wrong.”

//

“Kukalaka!”

Julian rushed over to his companion, face aglow. (The companion, of course—that being the bear. Miles’s presence, relative stranger that he was, remained tragically incidental.) “Oh, you found him! Kukalaka!”

The tone of Julian’s voice was reward enough, and ten times over. Miles bore him forth, a soft and loving and truly loyal friend. Before long, Julian would recall that as a grown man, he had another.

“My bear! My bear-bear-bear. My bear-bear-bear,” Julian chanted, scooping Kukalaka into his arms and stroking his head. Kukalaka did, he noted, seem a little worse for wear, but the smell and the feel was all the same, enough to recognize it all—the friend through many terrors.

Molly couldn’t see the great appeal, not of a mere teddy-bear. But it was better to say nothing, and thus be by no means expected to share her far superior plush targ. She silently congratulated the reunion, and clasped Piggy tightly to her chest.

“I’m glad you were able to track him down, Miles,” Keiko volunteered. “This will make him feel much more at home. Thank you, dear.”

Miles blushed slightly, but gave a short wink, for the charm. There was something to it, the reputation of a casual miracle-worker.

Julian made an about-face and strode back to his territory on the couch. He landed roughly on the cushions, a great relief in the bones of his small frame. His petting continued. “Kukalaka, hello Kukalaka. Hello, Kukakala, handsome, Mister Handsome.”

Garak, meanwhile, was less than pleased. His eyes bore into the intruder, the Ku-Ka-La-Ka. His breath, which was all but stilled, suddenly became shallow and rapid. He grabbed the bear and brusquely flipped it over in his prying hands. The eyes of the thing were dead, it had no bones—no claws, as did the bear of the documentary. Regardless, he took one hand upon its head and another on its fleecy body and, with one swift motion, made as to snap its neck.

(Alas, no telltale _crack_, and the bear made no real objections.)

“H-hey!” Julian protested. He, on the other hand, did take some offense to the attempt.

Garak glanced between the viewscreen (now on the particular topic of porcupines) and Kukalaka, back and forth in quick succession. One could watch developing gears learn to turn.

“It’s not a real bear, Garak,” Keiko reassured him. “We should have clarified. It’s like Molly’s, there—just an image. A, hm… a soft sculpture.”

“It’s a toy! Now give him back!” Julian demanded, hand outstretched.

Garak threw Kukalaka to the ground and stormed off to the far corner of the room. He paced, circled, and paced. His nostrils curled as if there were a terrible scent in the air, mocking and daunting and _foreign_ as anything.

“Mean….” Julian mused, retrieving the bear from its indignity. He smoothed the ruffled fur, although there was no real damage done.

“Jus’ a toy, Garak. You can sit down.” (Miles, of course.)

Garak whipped about, his gaze furious and ashamed. His mouth remained staunchly closed, the lips firm and unmoving. Suddenly, his hand darted to nearest houseplant, tearing off a leaf—then another, then another, and another—all in rapid and outraged succession.

“Garak!” Keiko exclaimed, taking to her feet. “What in the—stop it! Stop it! This isn’t like you at all. You know, you’re a very polite grown man!”

He tore off one leaf—just one—and held it in his hand, as if it were a hostage.

Miles held up his hands. “Keiko, Keiko honey.” He tilted his head, looking out from under ginger brows. “Now Garak, that’s our mistake. Hadn’t meant any offense by it. It’s jus’ a cultural thing from our planet. See now where that would’a caused bloody terrible alarm, a ‘bear’. It’s a facsimile, if your translator will make good on that. It’s a comfort object for children _disguised_ with… bear _char’teristics._ Just the bits humans are fond of. Fluffy things, things that become warm when you hold ‘em.”

Garak’s eyes narrowed—thin slivers of ice.

“I don’t expect you to believe that, necessarily,” Miles continued. “But I will tell you, you’ve got nothing to fear from it, that little thing. It’s like you felt when you had it in your hands. Hasn’t got any claws, any teeth—hasn’t even got any bloody bones in it. Haven’t the faintest clue if Cardassia has ‘toys’, even has the idea of ‘toys’. But I know they’ve got art, right? Children’s art, is what it is. For human children’s preferences. Big, dangerous animals made into… kinder things.” He frowned. “Actually seems a bit weird when I say it.”

“He tried to kill him,” Julian interrupted. There was a grievance to be aired. “Tried to. Doesn’t talk and he doesn’t color right, either. And his dinner went to Chester.” He held up Kukalaka, innocent Kukalaka, as proof. “He’s being bad.”

Molly nodded.

(Guilty, by a jury of peers!)

“You… you oughta…. You oughta do what happens.” And now the grip on Kukalaka—that was _tight._

“Nobody is getting punished, Julian.” Keiko’s voice was firm. “But I do think it’s getting to be bedtime for you two. It’ll all be straightened out in the morning, Jadzia said. Sometime tomorrow, if her estimate was correct.”

The last leaf crumpled in hand. Hard to know why, whether fingers clasped from disdain or a lingering agitation.

Miles’s brow knit into deep furrows. “Right. And we’ll have you two in Molly’s room—she’ll stay with us in ours. Hopefully that should give you some peace and quiet. Something I never thought I’d say in either of your respects, frankly.”

Keiko set her hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You’re going to want Kukalaka with you, don’t you? Go show it to Garak again. Show him it’s all right.”

“Don’t want to.”

“You care that he feels safe, don’t you? With your pretend-bear in the room?”

Julian wasn’t entirely certain what he was feeling. He pulled his lips between his teeth uncertainly, deep in simple thought.

“You know you’re among friends,” Keiko reminded him. “He doesn’t know that yet. Won’t you show him your pretend-bear?”

“He can’t touch it.”

“Well, I don’t think he really wants to touch it.” She glanced over to Garak for confirmation. “But give him a chance to see how you hold him.”

Julian pulled the bear close. “He’s mine.”

Keiko stifled a sigh. “We know he’s yours, Julian. You’re the one who wanted us to bring him, remember? And Garak, hopefully you can see we hadn’t planned for this to happen. This is Julian’s pretend-bear. Even as an adult, he brings it with him, because it has sentimental importance. It is a heritage item for his family.”

The gray-scaled boy looked to the side, thoughtfully.

“Is there anything like that we might find in your room? Anything that might make you feel better? Anything we can replicate in our replicators, perhaps?”

Garak said nothing at all.

“Where’s Chester going to sleep?” Molly asked. “Chester’s not big and he’s soft. I don’t. I don’t think. If someone’d bad, I don’t think they should get to have Chester.”

“Chester’s going to sleep in our room, Molly,” Miles assured her.

“Good. Even though he’s got pie breath I bet.”

“So’ve you, Molly.”

Molly frowned. She’d never thought of that.


	10. Bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This can be cleared up any second.

“Quark. Quark. Come in. Quark?” Kira jabbed at the door’s comm panel once more. She was certain it was Quark’s. It had embellishments, not to mention a late-night delivery menu. She wasn’t certain if such postings were permissible, but it was a concern for another time.

“Go away!”

“Where’s the baby, Quark?”

“Worf handed him off to me! And if that’s an insult to you, take it up with him! I won’t involve myself in… domestic disputes! Your Captain’s got it out for me, that’s what I think—”

Kira sighed and pressed her communications badge. “Odo?”

“He’s not going to answer you!” Quark snapped once again, his voice trilling through the tinny speakers. “Odo’s perfectly happy where he is.”

Jake’s face scrunched. “This is weird.”

Kira’s eyes narrowed. “Worf could clear this up, could he?”

//

“Are you certain it’s safe? The two of them, alone tonight?” There had been violence against her houseplant, after all. Forgiveness came readily, but to forget…? Another matter entirely. Innocence had been encroached upon; a snakeplant (_Dracaena trifasciata_) would recover, albeit only in time. Leaves were strewn, and a botanist would mark that an assault.

Miles released a warm breath from between his lips, blowing out his cheeks. “Keiko, dear…. I fitted each ‘ne with a bracelet that will alert us if anything seems to be goin’ awry. If they pass outside the defined borders of the room, if their heartbeat’s out of normal range….”

Her expression was hardly approving. “How’d he take it? Garak, I mean?”

“Well, honey, to be perfectly frank, he didn’t like it much.”

“Miles—!”

“But he liked it _much_ more than the alternative of pretendin’ all’s-well!” Miles insisted. “Look, dear. I _know_ you and Mr. Garak are friends. I know that, respect it—don’t have to _like_ it, not as such. But for a child like that…. What do you expect, exactly? They’re a xenophobic race. He’s probab’ly never seen another human in his life, might not know the species. It’s unfair to expect it of him.”

Keiko seethed. “You’re always going on, acting like they’re some… primitive kind. Cardassians are an advanced species. They have challenges, certainly, but to treat them like Neanderthals—!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Miles contested. He took a deep breath. “See, the prob’lem is, he doesn’t know what’s happening here. And not a damned thing we say will make him feel any better. He doesn’t have a good reason to trust us. And for once—good on him! Solid instincts, under the circumstances."

“I just… wanted the boys to feel _safe_ here.”

“And so do I, dear! I swear. Even if it’s Garak! I would like it of them, I would,” Miles assured her. He placed a hand gently in hers. “But everything we do is going to make him feel worse. He doesn’t know what we are; he doesn’t know why he’s here. Any efforts to put him at ease are going to have the exact opposite effect. I don’t enjoy that he’s nervous, that he’s scared, but… he should be. He’s among a species he doesn’t know, with no reason to believe we’ve benevolent. Heck, we aren’t, really, even. I’ve killed Cardassians.”

“Miles!”

“Well, that’s true, isn’t it? And the Federation is hardly makin’ flower-crowns with the Union. It’s better to be upfront. He _trusts_ in not trusting. And by this time tomorrow, he’ll know why.” Miles sighed. “Let him have that, until then. The right to be scared, what for not knowin’. If this had happened to you, without your memories, you’d have felt nearly the same way, isn’t that right?”

She looked pained, in those deep dark eyes. “I just wanted this to be… something nice for them. The two of them, so _guarded…._”

“But this isn’t the time, Keiko. Not when their defenses are down. They’ve got to choose. They’ve got to choose what they want to share.”

“I suppose….”

“Julian especially. He’s not as feckless as he seems. That kid…. He’s hiding, haven’t you gotten sight of that? Ever since he came on the station. He’s putting himself out there, almost egregiously…. But it’s not _him, _you know? Not the part of him to be worried about."

Keiko nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

He dropped his shoulders. “We can’t use this as leverage. They’ve got to take their own time.”

She leaned into him. “I know. I know. But do you have to frighten them?”

“Garak’s less scared for havin’ something to be scared of.” He tried to smile. “And Julian, I think, isn’t scared of anything. And never Garak, you know those two. He’s got a heck of a heart on him, you know that.”

“You know, when I first met him—”

Miles laughed. “Well, that’s the thing. Some people will really amaze you.”


	11. Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quark thinks about a box.

Kira found Worf sitting in Odo’s chair, at Odo’s desk, in Odo’s office. She could feel a prickle along her spine, grievance by proxy for wont of the missing man. She was more sensitive to the notion of _territory_ than Odo, perhaps by virtue of her past crusade. Nevertheless, by her reckoning, even Odo would agree that his chair was for one ass only.

“Worf.”

“Kira,” he replied, just as laconically. He seemed unworried—or, at least, no more wary than the battle-ready Klingon did as part of his conventional working day.

“Is that you, Worf? Or are you Odo?” Jake asked. He forewent his own introduction; his shirt was loud enough to do it for him.

Kira frowned. “The ship told us that Odo was in Quark’s quarters, Jake. Remember? And it told us we could find _Worf_ in here. So this would be Worf.” She turned to the man. “So. Worf. Care to fill us in?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Where’s _Odo?_”

Worf narrowed his eyes. “As you yourself have correctly identified: he is in Quark’s quarters.”

Jake cozied up to the desk. “So, you knew he was in there? Is in there?”

“Yes.”

“Aaaand… care to tell us why?” Jake slid a little closer. “Does it have something to do with the baby?”

“From here, I can easily monitor the proto-changeling while simultaneously fulfilling the temporary role of Security Chief. Quark’s habits are… well-mapped.”

“‘_Proto-changeling’_?” Kira gaped. The threw up her arms. “Another! They’re going to kill another one! Outrageous! Why, in the name of the Prophets, don’t they just call someone who knows what they’re doing!?”

Worf wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “I am observing the situation with a keen Klingon eye. Besides, Quark is unlikely to release Odo from the stasis box. In this, Odo remains entirely safe.”

“Wait, Odo’s in the… what?” Jake continued incredulously.

“In a stasis box?! What’s his crime?”

That made the Klingon squirm. Kira aflame was nothing to take lightly, and correcting course could perhaps trigger her temper. “It was deemed appropriate for Odo to remain in the stasis box, for his own security, until Jadzia completes her preparation for the reversion process tomorrow….” He touched his PADD. “Tomorrow morning. Originally, the stasis box was to be handled by the O’Briens. However, as Garak was revealed to be technologically precocious—”

“Garak! What in the name of the Kai does _Garak_ have to do with this!?”

“The situation is exactly as outlined in your morning briefing message. I assume you have become more familiar with the Federation practice of checking it regularly.”

“—Ah.”

Worf handed her a PADD. “Read.” He folded his arms. “I will wait.”

//

“I-I know, Morn, I know….” Rom confessed with a sigh. “Never a d-dull moment.”

//

Quark had brought the stasis box to his appraising table. There, to one side, an oversized lens. To another, a digital scale—good down to the zeptogram. In the middle of all his equipment, the stasis box still felt incalculably valuable. He pressed his hands to both sides, as if expecting a heat that was not there.

“Hard to believe it,” he said, his voice marveling. “Just based on where you landed, ending up here, on Terok Nor. Working for the Cardassians—friend to the Bajorans! You could have been anything, done anything, and here you are. Keeping the peace.”

He shook his head. “What a waste!”

Quark shook a finger at the ceiling. “I could have ten moons with that kind of advantage! I could slip in, slip out—anywhere, anyone!”

The box deserved another hard look. “Maybe you just weren’t _raised_ right….”

He leaned in, his voice barely above even a Ferengi whisper. “Odo… how’d you like to get out of that box?”


	12. The Old Razzle-Dazzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Razzles and dazzles.

Keiko O’Brien—with impressive foresight—had piled six blankets on the foot of Molly’s bed, a truly extravagant number, particularly given that the heat in the room had been ticked a few degrees higher than normal. There were another two blankets at the end of a supplementary bed they had borrowed from one of the unused diplomats’ quarters—one designed for Ferengi, commonly small.

Garak had opted for all six. Julian, feeling conditions were more than adequate and that he could handily endure the harrowing habitat of “the child’s bedroom”, had passed him another, thereby yielding a potentially lucky seven. He watched in open curiosity as the gray-skin boy cocooned himself inside.

He still held Kukalaka, as if releasing him would open the poor bear to a second assault. Then again, lacking bones, nerves, organs, or any tissues to speak of, Kukalaka had positioned himself perhaps best of all to survive the night.

Unready to sleep but unwilling to stand, Julian sat on the corner of the bed, contemplating, but perhaps not deeply. There had been a cat, there had been a pie (correction: two pies), there had been a young girl, there had been a young boy, there had been a new bed, there had been a place-not-home, and as of tomorrow, he was told it wouldn’t mean a thing. There was his assignment: wiling away the time until he knew himself again, as promised.

There were ontological considerations, and Julian Bashir did not, at such an age, know the meaning of the word. It was, perhaps, a perdurantist’s field day (and he did not know the meaning of _that_ word, either).

Garak, however, was lying on his side, only a peek of face visible from behind the many folds of fabric. He wriggled backwards, so as to align his armor-plated back with the far wall. Blue eyes scanned to room with frank skepticism, but there was little else to do. Miles had fitted him with a metal bracelet with two blinking lights, and though there was no indication it would explode if disturbed, there was no indication at all that it wouldn’t.

//

Worf had been certain Quark would not open the box. This displayed a woeful misunderstanding of Quark’s relationship with boxes.

—And little did Worf know that, under the circumstances, Quark quite preferred a bowl.

The bowl was clear crystal (and why not? It all replicated the same) and more than voluminous enough for the full measure of Constable Odo. And Odo seemed quite taken with it, as well as an inert blob really could.

It did lead to some—perhaps _some_—disappointment.

“Not even going to try it?” Quark asked, holding up what ought to have been an easy challenge—worthless gems, occasionally prized on primitive worlds. “Basic crystalline structure. Polygon, twelve sides. Come on, Odo! None of that fancy footwork required for Bajoran noses. You can do this much, can’t you? Right? For your buddy Quark?”

And the Odo-glop did nothing, not even a ripple.

“Unbelievable. Can you not see it closely enough?” Quark pressed. “Or perhaps…. I don’t see any eyes. Perhaps you can’t see at all? … No, that can’t be it. You can always ‘see’, even when you’re sneaking around as a dabo girl’s hat. What, though, is it too far away? Looks too much like my fingers? Can’t tell the difference? Come on, Odo! Give me a wiggle, won’t you? Not even a ‘harrumph’? I’m trying to work with you here!”

He clenched his teeth. “Driving a hard bargain. Well, at least you’ve learned one important lesson today. Keep it up and you’ll uncover every Rule of Acquisition in the book. Better than whatever nonsense the Bajorans stuffed in there, anyway. Look, tell you what. I’ll drop it in you. Here we go.”

(Plop!)

“How about that? Going to give that the ol’ Odo-razzle-dazzle?”

The gem bobbed at the surface.

“You’re impossible!”

Quark tapped his chin.

“… _Or _you’re a very savvy customer…. All right.” He held up his hands. “All right. Not worth your time. Anyone can replicate a beryl. Who cares, that’s what I’m hearing. And I've got good ears. Who cares!”

He brought out a small pouch from under the appraisal desk. “Ahh, but this…! Even the Federation doesn’t know how to make more of this! What do you say, Odo? Want to see a little… _latinum_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> precious smol burrito
> 
> bad soup


	13. Chester Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm known to be triskaide... blaugh I can't spell that word tonight. Anyway, this chapter skips us to chapter 14, right over the Number I Don't Like.

Chester preferred to roam the night. Now he was forbidden beyond the parameters of the O’Brien’s master bedroom. And there was only one thing to do about it.

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow

“Meow.”


	14. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odo's out of the box!

“Open up, Quark.”

“Go away! I’m not opening this door unless you have a-a warrant!”

“I’ll do you one better,” Kira snapped. “I’ve got a _Worf._”

Worf tried to rally his sagging shoulders. “Quark.”

What Quark felt was nothing short of betrayal. A deal was a deal was a _deal._ Savages! What savages didn’t know the Rules! “I haven’t done anything wrong! Nothing you can prove!”

“Give me the _box,_ Quark,” Kira insisted. She slammed her forearm against the door. “_Now_, Quark!”

She heard a rattle and a few small bangs. “Oh,” Quark’s voice rang through the intercom, “It’s the box you want? Fine! You can have it!”

“I said _now!_”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

(Jake was holding back, his PADD angled with the camera engaged.)

The door slid partway open with a soft _woosh._ The gap was only about a foot wide, enough for Quark to peer out into the corridor, albeit not enough for the full span of his head. Kira, Jake, and Worf. An odd gang, to say the least. “I’ve got the box,” he said. “Now, what will you give me for it?”

Kira bent over to face him eye-to-eye. “_Amnesty._”

The Ferengi pouted. “I haven’t done a thing wrong! I’ve been a loyal guardian. Steadfast! There’s no reason you need it now! I, well I even left the bar! And in Rom’s hands, I might add! That just shows how, how seriously I’m taking my custodianship!”

“Quark,” Worf warned him. “I would not test Commander Kira in this regard. She has quite a strong perspective on the matter.”

“A fe-male cannot be trusted with something so important!”

Kira’s hand shot through the space and gripped him by the collar. “Want to try that again, Quark?”

“Th-that’s what Worf said!” he choked.

She released Quark and swung around to face Worf. “Oh, is _that_ so?”

“Wh-why else? Why else do y-you think he handed him off to me?” Quark managed between coughs. “Ooh, assault. Assault by a Bajoran officer!”

“A ‘_fe-male’_ can’t be trusted, is that right, Worf?” Kira seethed.

Worf felt a shudder up his spines. He clenched his pointed teeth. “I only sought to address the probable interference of emotion. You would likely be compromised in this manner where Odo is concerned. You were sympathetic to his disregard for Dr. Mora.”

Kira’s nose bunched even further. Ridges like that would take some time to iron out. “Oooo-oh, oh, oh, Worf. We’re going to have a _briefing_ about this later. But for now,” she said, turning back to Quark, “the _box,_ Quark.”

Quark bore it forth. “Here you are, here’s your box! If you care so much, thieving it from its proper steward!”

She snatched it from him promptly. _“Thank_ you. Now then—”

“One moment,” Worf interjected.

“Yes, Worf?”

Worf grabbed the box and shook it. “It’s light.” He huffed. “It’s empty.”

(Standard procedure, with Ferengi, to check.)

“Wait, where’s Odo?” Jake asked. “He’s not in the box? Where would he have gone off to?”

“Quark,” Kira said, her eyes narrowing. “Where’s Odo?”

//

A curiosity gripped him.

He had a natural sense of wonder, regardless of whether he’d been able to properly _label_ what he’d observed as a house, or a cat, or anything else. As such, he could not help but stare at the boy, the odd alien boy, wrapped up tightly, self-swaddled. What was to be made of that, exactly?

The Cardassian did seem distraught. Aliens were different, but they weren’t so different. The eyes, it seemed, gave it all away. That and the blankets, Julian supposed. No one who felt at ease would have seized them so tightly. No peaceful sleeper would have wedged himself against the far wall and begged its structure to dampen his shakes.

Julian looked around the room, as if trying to locate some uncontroversial topic to ease into the conversation. Unfortunately, the room was quite unremarkable, and certainly less remarkable than their situation overall.

“Are you all right?” Julian asked softly. “Because… you don’t _look_ all right.”

Garak waited for a moment, assessing. “… I’m cold.”

Julian tried to stifle his excitement. So, Garak _could_ talk!

… It was only a shame that he had no more than two words, a confession of his discomfort.

“You’re cold? With all those blankets?” Julian hopped up and stepped over to Molly’s oddly-occupied bed. He carefully reached into the small ingress around Garak’s face and touched him at the hairline. (He avoided the spoon; it seemed potentially sensitive. He knew of a lizard, a tuatara, that had an eye somewhere around there.) He drew back almost immediately, as if stung. “That! That’s _cold!?_ Blimey, y-you’re roasting!”

Garak closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his face. His voice, muffled, was small. “I’m cold.”

Julian stood straight and cocked his head. He turned the notion over in his mind. That couldn’t be cold, _really_ cold. It was much hotter than any of the rooms they’d been in thus far. And even Garak didn’t seem altogether comfortable in it himself, his breath so hot and uncertain. Julian’s smooth brow discovered its first furrow. “You know, if you don’t feel good, you can say so. You can say you’re scared. I won’t tell anybody.”

That was met with absolutely no response at all. Garak didn’t so much as remove his hands from where they covered his face. There was only silence; silence would extend.

“The big Klingon said we’re friends,” Julian continued, kneeling down on the floor, levelling his bare face with one shielded one. “When we’re grownups.”

And Garak had nothing to say to that, either.

“… And Ms. O’Brien did. And Mr. O’Brien. So I bet it’s true, if that many people said it.”

One gray hand slipped aside just far enough for a single critical eye.

“I don’t know you yet, though,” Julian confessed. He felt concern, felt the desire to mend. But there were only so many tools in a young boy’s toolbox. Someday, he hoped there would be more—but that could only fall to a Julian from another time. He stood. “Still, if you want, here,” he said, turning to pick up Kukalaka. “You can borrow Kukalaka. I promise he isn’t dangerous. And he’s warm. And he’s a good friend, to anybody, I promise.”

He set Kukalaka down, tilted against the bulk where Garak’s hands could easily find it. He couldn’t deny a certain reluctance, relinquishing the bear. However, if Garak really was his friend, then it was necessary. Julian couldn’t monopolize the only solace in the room.

He went back to his bed and curled up under the solitary blanket he’d retained. He hoped to dream, but couldn’t imagine what dreams could ever choose to grace him.


	15. Motley Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Famil

“Well,” Kira admitted. “It does look like him.”

“I’m telling you, he’s very comfortable in there. Very comfortable,” Quark reiterated under the looming presence of one towering Worf. He patted the table on both sides of the bowl and its inert inhabitant.

And indeed, Worf glared downward. “I _instructed_ you not to release Odo from the stasis box. He is at risk, as we do not have a reliable means of communicating with him, and changelings may be subject to retribution from persons onboard the station.”

“But—but that’s so… grim! He’s a child. Doesn’t he deserve a little freedom?” Quark pressed his hands together lovingly. “Freedom to re-evaluate his experiences, to choose—”

“What’s that?” Jake asked, pointing his finger towards the bowl.

Kira leaned in.

Quark didn’t have the eyelashes to flutter, but an attempt was made. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“This,” Kira stated flatly, poking at a sharp corner peeking from above the surface of the Odo-pool.

“Why,” Quark replied sweetly, “that’s latinum.”

“Latinum?” Worf pressed.

“Can’t you see? I’ve stuffed him almost to the brim.”

“With slips of latinum?”

“As you can see, I’m a very good parent. Why, even my Moogie never—”

Kira exhaled. “All right. I think I’ve seen enough. Worf? Box.”

“Wait! Wait, I’ve done a good job! I’ve given him nothing but… positive, instructional—!”

“I am the father here,” Worf asserted. “I am the one who should be protecting the child. This has been made clear. It was a mistake to think there could be any substitute.” He reached for the bowl.

Kira stopped him. “Wait a minute, wait a minute there. First of all, that doesn’t mean you’re uniquely qualified. Secondly, when it comes to you, Worf, as a father, it seems to _me_—”

“H-hey, let’s not get personal….” Quark recommended. There was nothing to be gained by a fight among two customers. (Though if he had to bet—or even had the opportunity—it would be Kira issuing the headlock.) “It never helps for children to see their parents fight, over anything but money.”

“Why don’t we all help?” Jake suggested. He boldly entered the fray. “What about that? The changelings claim that solids have always done them a wrong turn when they’re discovered. So wouldn’t that be the best thing we can do for Odo? Not to box him up. Instead, we can show him, you know, that solids care about him. And what better group to do it? A Bajoran, a Ferengi, a Human, and a Klingon. All of us!”

“If you stay…,” Quark suggested. “I’ll make drinks.” He wagged his head back and forth. “O-o-oh, I’ll even do it at-cost!”

Kira was ready to object, but paused. “Odo was taken to Bajor. He was raised by Mora Pol. However, I don’t think… that’s the best face that Bajor could have shown him. He’s told me…. Well. There are worse things than to be stuffed with latinum by an overeager Ferengi.”

Jake clapped her on the back. “Come on, what do you think? You have to admit, 32FIU is the slowest shift in Ops. And if there’s an emergency, there’s nothing to stop them buzzing you in. It’s Odo, he’s practically family! We can have a family night. Just the five of us.”

Odo’s surface rippled slightly.

“Oh… all right. Bajoran springwine, for me.”

“Bloodwine.”

“Pear cider.”

Quark pressed a hand to his chest. “_I’ll_ be staying sober. I’m taking this all very seriously. Now, cash or credit?”


	16. Nightlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak and Kukalaka

“—box of sea glass, this time, in the wall behind the bottom shelf of the left side of the room. You can tell. It’s the tile with a scratch.” And one big inhale. “And that’s most of the things.”

Julian woke quietly, roused by the voice—one which he could have earlier assumed, but now knew, was Garak’s. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Where illumination was concerned, there was little but a nightlight and the window to the stars. That light—all of that light—was cold. He could see, in silhouette, that Garak was now sitting upright. In his hands, there was an object, at first obscure, and then with a moment’s discernment—Kukalaka!

A small part of Julian thrilled. He was right that there was something in the bear to be loved, even by an alien. He felt strangely proud.

Garak had paused and Julian froze.

The silence lingered. Eventually, Garak dipped his head forward. His voice was quiet, but to Julian, audible enough.

“And… the last thing. There is someone out there, for me, a family. That’s what he said, the man who came to see me, the one with… you know, the badge. The badge, but we don’t say it. The ones who will come if you do.” His fingers brushed through Kukalaka’s fur, firmly, but with no intent to wound. “The man, he said…. He said, if I was good, and if I could keep a secret, my father would come find me. That he couldn’t do it yet. But he would, he wants to. He would come for me. He’d be coming for me… soon.”

It shot a pang through Julian’s heart. He had a father, a father who was always there. A father who _loved_ him, and Julian knew, because his father had told him that’s how it was. There was no other way for it to be. (Not so for Garak, it seemed.)

Garak’s voice quivered. “And… now I suppose that's over. I know I need to be quiet, but if you… can… listen…. I’m supposed to tell. When this happens.” He looked at the ceiling. “The things left to do, to leave to, I guess, somebody. Well…. That’s what I wanted. I really wanted it. I really wanted to meet my father.” And he began to cry.

Julian crumpled his blanket in his fingers. He realized, only too late, that he had eavesdropped on a conversation that was truly not meant for his ears.

“Will you tell him?” Garak asked, refusing to wipe his eyes, as if acknowledging his whimpers would be the actual misdeed. “If you see him? Your friend tells me that you’re loyal. If you see my father, will you say to him, I tried? I wanted it, I really wanted it—I swear. I wanted it more than anything.”

“Kukalaka, um, he’s a toy; he’s not alive,” Julian said. His voice shook. He felt some color leach from his face, in the dark. But to stay quiet—that felt worse? “But I was listening. And I promise, if your dad, um, if he’s looking for you, and I see him, I’ll tell him?”

Garak startled. He brushed away his criminal tears. “I… you can’t!” he challenged, horrified, at a more normal volume. “How?!”

“Well, I’ll just say, um, I’ll just say—”

“No, my voice?! How could you hear me?”

“I can…. I could hear you? Couldn’t you, have, um…. Couldn’t you hear it?”

Garak shook his head in appalled audacity. “You can’t have! I was so quiet!” He dropped the bear and clapped his hands over his ears, whining audibly.

“It’s ok! It’s ok!” Julian reassured him, rising to a sit. He held out his hands plaintively. “It’s the same!”

Garak pointed at him accusingly. “It’s my secret! To listen, to… to listen on _shri-tal!_ Y-you haven’t got any manners! Shame, shame on you, shame-shame-shame _shame-on-you!_”

Julian rose to the defense, showing his palms. “I don’t know what that is! I just know you said you want to see your dad! It’s okay! There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“People don’t _know_ I _have_ a father.”

“Well, what’s wrong that I know? I’m glad, if… if you’re glad?” (It was an attempt, anyway.) “And I hope you do meet him. I’ll help you, if I can?”

Garak went still. He paused, to reflect. “Maybe. You’re their species, aren’t you? You said Human.” He tapped his fingers on the bed. “Maybe… you’re going to make it tomorrow. Maybe this all isn’t for you.”

“Is it because you said a secret?”

“Secrets are important. The most important thing.” (He wasn’t even sure if he should say _that._)

Julian crawled off the bed and nudged himself towards Garak’s (nee Molly’s). “Then will you agree it's the same if I tell you a secret?”

Garak’s eyes narrowed.

Julian licked his lips. He rested his head against the side of the bed, feeling conflicted. There were _secrets,_ and then…. But from what he’d been told, Garak was his friend. That was a bond that could not be surrendered needlessly. “I went into a room. There were old people speaking, people with… a weird bummy smell. And there were bright lights. And when I left the room, I could run faster. Well, I don't know faster, but I could run without falling down."

It didn’t go over as he’d intended. “That’s a _secret?_”

“My mum said it is. She said I can’t tell anyone, can’t tell anyone ever. She said it’s the most important secret in the world. If anyone knows, something terrible will happen. I’ll go away. They’ll never see me again.” He felt mildly nauseous. “My mum and dad, they won’t see me.”

It had earned him some sympathy. Even so, Garak looked down at him with questioning eyes. “I’ve never heard of a room that does that thing you just said.”

“Me either. But that’s what my mum told me.” He looked up. “But I’m your friend. I think that’s true. Don’t you think so? So I won’t lie.”

No reply was rendered.

Julian felt a terrible weight in his throat. “Well. I hope it’s true. I hope that when they take us tomorrow, and they make us eighteen again, we’ll recognize one another. And this will all feel silly.”

Garak tilted his head. “Eighteen?”

“They said we’re grownups. That’s what happens when you’re eighteen. You’re a grownup.”

Garak’s nostrils went wide. “It’s twenty-two.”

“Okay, then if we’re grown ups ‘cause we’re eighteen or ‘cause we’re twenty-two. I hope I’m your friend.” He did feel a little peeved at the correction; they would _be _eighteen, as grownups are.

Garak reached down to touch the crown of Julian’s head, ever so lightly. “Maybe you are. Though I don’t know how because you don’t know _shri-tal._”

“What is it?”

“It’s a special telling secrets. But only civilized cultures do it.”

“‘Civilized cultures’?”

“Cardassians.”

Julian didn’t have the first idea what to make of that. “I’m not a Cardassian. But I’ll help you, if you want. You want me to sit? I can watch, make sure you’re ok. That no one comes in when you’re sleeping.” He shuffled towards Garak, just a half-scoot. “Because you’re still worried, right? That something bad is going to happen? I won’t let anything bad happen. Promise.”

Garak chewed the thought. He ruminated some time. Eventually, his shoulders went limp. “I suppose there’s no difference, tonight or tomorrow. You can if you like. Isn’t different at all. I don't think my father is coming."

“Here, scoot into the corner. And I’ll sit here,” Julian offered, patting his hand on the sheets. “And then nobody can get to you, or to Kukalaka, without getting to me. So I’ll yell if anything happens. I’ll fight ‘em.”

He Cardassian made it partway through his first proper eye-roll. “If you like….”

“I’m strong!” he said, showing his lanky arms. “I’m fast!”

Garak stared at his bracelet and its dispassionately-blinking lights. “You can, if you want to.”

(What was the difference, anyway.)

Julian hopped onto the bed, crossing his arms. “I’m a guardian and you’re….” He couldn’t think of the term. “I’m the guardian and I’m going to guard you.”

Garak brought the blankets around and worked his way into the corner. He watched, carefully. Nothing in Julian’s demeanor seemed to suggest a treacherous bent. Nevertheless, his gut felt tangled. However, as Julian had said—there was nothing for it. It was tonight or tomorrow, where his fate lay, and tonight, perhaps, there was someone to believe in—the makings of sweet dreams.


	17. Sleepyheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transitional stuff.

She held herself over the bowl. Odo hadn’t made a sound and barely made a move—only one or two ripples and riffles, irregularly and without haste. But it was him. And that was worth acknowledging.

Kira smiled.

“Odo. It’s not perfect. It’s not a perfect childhood,” she whispered. “But it’s better than some. Your friends were here. People who loved you. I don’t know what happens tomorrow. I don’t know if whatever Jadzia has planned is going to let you keep these memories or just—poof! You’re back to how you were before this whole mishap. But I hope you remember.”

She went to touch him, then thought the better of it. “You have long, long been my friend. And as my friend, there are things I would do for you that you wouldn’t imagine. But this, I never thought anyone would ever have the chance to fix. It won’t be the same, but maybe it will help? We solids have the capacity to be kind, Odo. We can and, under the right circumstances, we really will choose to. Klingon, Bajorans, humans—even Ferengi. When you come back, I hope you remember that: we aren’t quite like you. In some ways, we change slowly. But when we change, we try to change things for the better.”

//

Miles was the first to wake.

Well, not strictly true. Miles was the first to wake, aside from Chester’s meows and periodic but ineffectual tromping on the faces of his slumbering wardens. Nevertheless, the line remained firm, and even Chester eventually curled up in a corner to await better days.

The chirp and beep, however, came to keener ears than a mere meow. “Ooh, look honey,” Miles mumbled. “Jadzia says it’s ready. Soon as we get ‘em there.”

Keiko rolled to the side. “Someone’ll have to stay here with Yoshi and Molly.” She yawned. “And give Chester his breakfast. Can you wrangle the two of them?”

“Yeah, I figure. I’ll keep a hand on Garak, and Julian seems pretty well-mannered.”

She pulled a pillow over her head. “Have fun.”

//

Julian had meant it, that he would serve as a stalwart. Unfortunately, despite any and all human enthusiasm, a body was a body and he, too, had fallen asleep, after a time.

Miles did appreciate it, after a fashion—found it endearing, perhaps sweet. Garak was tucked tightly into the corner, but across and along, there was Julian, sprawled like a tripwire. Upon closer inspection, Garak had even taken one small, gray hand and seized the fabric on the rear of Julian’s pajama top. It was hope and trust in a single gesture. Miles had seen it from his own children, and those of many others. (He’d seen it of adults, too, of men and women when the skies, perhaps, were uncommonly dark.)

“Wake up, sleepyheads. It’s time to be going.”

Garak’s eyes opened slowly. He was glad—tonight, or tomorrow—that, if Julian had anything to say about it, they were indeed on track to meet their fates on what had been dubbed “tomorrow”. It was some small reassurance, the only reassurance he had.

… That and the bear, of course, who was wedged tightly between them.

//

Rom wasn’t sure whether to say, or not to say, it was the most profitable night in the bar’s history.

“Brother,” he mused, “brother, perhaps being a stay-at-home dad would really suit you.”


	18. Posse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all meet up in Jadzia's laboratory.

“I bet you don’t want me to walk behind you, do you?”

Garak was tight-lipped as Miles had ever seen him. The compromising voice of the late night would not be heard in what the station made to be daylight.

Miles released a soft sigh. “All right. How about this, then: you can walk behind me, as long as you hold onto me.” He put out his hand with charitably slow caution.

That was something for Garak to consider. It communicated a complex hesitancy, a reluctant reluctance. But Miles’ hand was warm and smooth and inevitable. Garak took it with an almost affectionate resignation.

“That’s good, very good. Thank you.” He turned his head. “Now, Julian, can you walk along with us and not get distracted? It isn’t far.”

Julian tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll pay attention. Thing is, I want to go with you. This will put things right, won’t it?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

He looked at his feet. “And you’re my friend in the future?”

“That’s right.”

“And Garak’s my friend, too?”

Miles nodded. “Yes, Julian, he is.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s that? What for?”

“Haven’t been a very good friend, s’pose.”

“All I’ve seen, you have been. And who knows—things like this, they can make us better friends still. Now I know a bit more about what you like, how you are. Even things you like to eat. So it’s not all for a loss, is it?”

Julian considered it. “Will Kukalaka stay here?”

“You can bring him if you like. But otherwise, he’ll be safe and sound right here.”

“He can stay. It’s safe.”

“It’s safe where we’re going too, Julian.” Miles felt Garak squeeze his hand. He wasn’t sure what it would mean to squeeze it back.

//

“Now, look at you two!” Jadzia’s mouth was pulled into a toothy grin. “Oh my spots, and Garak, in his little shirt!” She squatted to their eye level. Her eyes were wide and wondering, and one could see them glowing at the sight of the two boys.

“Yep, here they are,” Miles announced, the assessment plain and tinged with relief. “All in one piece, thank the stars.”

Garak edged behind Miles, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Good grief. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him shy.”

“Well, it’s an odder experience for him than the rest. Speakin’ of, where’s Odo?”

Jadzia took to a stand and set one arm akimbo. “Well, as it happens… he’s yet to make his appearance. Apparently, he’s managed to rouse a bit of a posse, and they’ve got one and perhaps only one thing in common: they’re all late.”

“Hello,” Julian volunteered.

“Hi, Julian,” Jadzia replied, beaming. She mussed his hair with one free hand. “Absolutely cute as a button. It’s not good for you. No wonder you…. Well. That’s for me to know and you to realize, someday.”

Julian blushed, though he wasn’t quite sure as to why. Something about Jadzia seemed to make it quite easy for him.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough for your help. It took me all night to get the tachyon beam reversion pulse calibrated. Now, come along, you two,” she said, beckoning to the little duo.

Miles shrugged, one hand still clasping Garak’s (who, if anything, had tightened his grip). “Ah, that’s all right. I’ll stay through it. I’ve become something of a familiar face to them. And Garak’s quite good at slipping about.”

“Oh, so it really _is_ Garak,” Jadzia remarked with a short laugh. “All this time without a word and I was beginning to wonder.”

“Ah, he’s all right.”

“You’re my friend, too?” Julian asked. It was a pressing question.

Jadzia nodded. “Julian, I am and will always be a true and able friend.”

He passed his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh, I’m glad. I’m glad, that’s good.”

“You might feel differently in an hour or so,” she answered with a wink.

“Oh?” It was a small and wounded sound.

“Just a little joke, Julian. Don’t worry, you’ll understand.”

“It’s ‘cause she’s _trouble,_ Julian,” Miles added conspiratorially.

“She is?”

“Well, she’s trouble for _you._”

Jadzia gave Miles a light and playful smack. She was about to issue the next stage of the banter when the door beeped. “Come in!”

“Good morning,” Kira offered. Her eyes seemed mildly swollen, her voice unusually quiet. She held, in her hands, a crystal bowl of glistening Odo. Worf, Jake, and Quark shuffled in behind her.

“That really is quite an assembly,” Miles commented. “But wasn’t Odo supposed to be in the stasis box? If you were going to let ‘im out, I could’a done that.”

Jadzia did appear mildly peeved, but her attention was primarily directed towards Worf. “He _was._”

Worf made no excuses for himself.

“It’s no way to treat a child!” Quark protested. “And you, of the ‘free and liberated’ Federation!”

Worf reassessed his position and pointed at Quark. (There had been a confession; there was no dishonor in verifying it with the judge, jury, and—he hoped not—executioner.)

“Look, he’s fine,” Kira snapped. “If anything, we’re the ones who could use a little sympathy right now.”

“Oh? And how’s that?” Miles asked incredulously.

“Well, since we were in his _quarters_, Quark forgot to water down the drinks. I thought I could take five Bajoran Eclipses. I find myself woefully mistaken. A real Bajoran Eclipse is something to be reckoned with. And I’m reckoning with it. Now.”

Jake winced. “I had seven. Drinks. And then fewer, if you can subtract the ones I didn’t keep.”

“You held a party without me?!” She seemed almost offended.

“Get these all fixed, and we’ll have a _celebration_ party, how about that?” Kira offered. “And we’ll do it in your honor. Then all of us can drink.”

“I didn’t imbibe a _drop_,” Quark protested. He alone bore full evidence of sobriety. Even his collar was unrumpled.

“You tried to pour a glass into Odo,” Jake reminded him.

Quark rolled his eyes. “Only to make him feel _included._”

“Trust me, you _included_ enough. I don’t even know if we managed to fish all the latinum out of him,” Jake continued.

“Trust me, I counted accurately. It’s what we Ferengi do.”

“All right, all right,” Jadzia cut in. She gestured toward a series of three vertical chambers, each transparent and in possession of a single door. Clearly, they had been repurposed from MedLab. As it stood, they had a somewhat mad-scientist flair. “Set him in there. And you, Julian, in the middle. Miles, can you get Garak into the one on the far end?”

Kira sighed but did as instructed. “I suppose I shouldn’t, um, pour him out?”

Jadzia shook her head. “No need. The bowl will remain unaffected.”

“If the contemporary items aren’t affected by the tachyon pulse, then won’t the lads need new clothes?” Miles reminded her.

“Oh, thanks for reminding me. Here, we’ve got two adult MedLab robes; they’re over there on the counter. Julian, would you mind changing into a robe? You can go behind the positronic field array analyser.” She pointed to a large, gray, and somewhat obscure instrument. “That one.” She then bent to the side to get a straighter look at Garak, who was still using Miles as a soft, Irish shield. “You too, Garak. You’re going to get bigger.”

Garak looked up at Miles, who nodded. “Go on, Garak. Don’t mind the poor fit; they’re medical robes. You’ll be all right. Look right dapper when all’s said and done.”

Nevertheless, there was a momentary agony in the young Cardassian’s eyes. Yet, obedience was a virtue and—unlike the situation with Mr. Worf—Garak did feel obliged to respect the practice when it came to Mr. O’Brien.

“Door, third-level security lock. All control systems online,” Worf said. The door replied with several affirmative beeps and boops.

“Just look at him…,” Quark said. “So… tranquil. Like a little soup.” He closed his eyes and shook his head mildly. “Only to be given an extra twenty years to spoil. It’s a tragedy.”

Kira clapped a hand on his back. “Don’t be glum, Quark. Before you know it, he’s going to have a new warrant, just for you. It’s called ‘kidnapping’.”

“I… I did not! It’s called kid… ‘_kid-freeing_’!”

“I recommend no charges be filed for this entire…. experience,” Worf interjected. “In fact, with Captain Sisko’s permission, I recommend we purge the logs….”

Julian, meanwhile, emerged in his oversized robe and made his way to the middle chamber. He sized it up, his eyes wide. He pressed one small hand to the rim of the entrance. “Just in here?” he asked, his voice directed to Jadzia.

“Yes, Julian, right in there.”

“It’s all going to be fine, jus’ fine, you’ll see,” Miles reiterated. “And you, too, Garak. Come along, now.”

Garak slunk out from behind the same analyser, having done as instructed. He seemed far more sullen in his new accoutrement. Even so, he approached the chamber at the far end, as Jadzia had first indicated.

“Go on, get in,” Jadzia urged them.

Miles nodded.

“First time I’ve seen Garak listen to _you,_” Kira whispered, her volume knowingly obscure to inferior Cardassian ears.

He made a small pressing motion with his hands. “Go on. Let’s get it over with.” There was something calm and tender in his voice, a tone he had never expected of himself whether either Julian or Garak were concerned.

Garak was first, and he obligingly shut the door behind him, which clamped tight with an audible clunk. It cost him a heartbeat—one which he’d skipped.

Julian paused only a moment longer. He sucked on his lips. He prayed there were no bright lights; he had no need to run faster (he had no need to run without falling down; he could do it quite well enough already).

“Turn this way, please.” Jadzia stepped behind the emitter. “It’ll only be a moment.”

Julian did as instructed, in the process blowing out his cheeks. “I hope, I hope when I’m older….” (But the thought vanished.)

It took a beat, but Garak did the same, smoothly and deliberately. There was no excess motion. His posture was strict, his chin held high.

“Oh—oh look!” Quark pointed at Odo’s chamber with almost delirious enthusiasm. “Look, look at him! Odo!”

Kira laughed. “An entire bowl of latinum.”

“Must be two hundred slips….” Jake added.

“Oh, he loves me! He loves me best! I’m his favorite!” He gripped his hands into fists, where they quivered victoriously. “I knew! _I knew it!_”

The bulk of them chuckled, including Miles. However, his amusement came to an abrupt halt, having caught sight of Garak’s expression. Grim, grimmer than its gray. Miles’ brow scrunched in concern, and his eyes met Garak’s—blown and blue.

Garak’s throat bobbed for a moment. Immediately, his nails were scraping the inside of the door. The surface shrieked. “Help! Help, please!_ Mr. O'Brien! Mr. O'Brien! Please, **save me! Please!**_"

It was dumbfounding. He watched appalled as Garak’s fingers left harsh streaks along the inside.

“Er. That’s my cue,” Jadzia said. She reached behind the emitter and flipped the switch.


	19. All This and More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

There was nothing more beautiful to Keiko O’Brien than green growth.

“Really the least I could do. After all, I have it on fairly good authority that you are currently in possession of a similar plant missing a good number of its leaves. However, this particular varietal is favored on Tzenketh outerworlds. I thought it might make a fitting complement to your other lovely specimens.”

“Why, thank you, Garak,” she replied, bearing the pot aloft, admiring its intricately inscribed motifs. The patterns were discernably Cardassian—geometric and severe. She deemed it an excellent fit, although nothing she would highlight to her husband. “Lovely, absolutely lovely.” She placed it on the nearest endtable. “That said, I hope you realize there was no real harm done. Bear in mind, I do have two children—everything in these quarters must be, shall I say, _resilient._”

Garak nodded politely. “Of course, Dr. O’Brien. But I could not go without having properly expressed my gratitude.” He handed her a strange carving and a hand-stitched mouse. “And these for Molly and Chester, of course. Respectively. And provided you can deliver me a few key measurements, I’ll have something for Kirayoshi in due time.”

She beamed. “Oh, they’ll love these! Astonishing to think you’re so quick. Did you do the carving, also?”

“Oh, certainly not. I’m no use at all with a knife.”

Miles snorted.

Garak’s blue eyes flashed mischievously. “And for you, Mr. O’Brien.” He bore forth a small piece of cloth, elegantly folded.

“Oh? What’s this?” Miles asked. He reached for it—thumb and index finger—as gently as if it were a frayed power coupling.

“Ah, this is a human item. Not one I understand particularly well,” Garak replied. “A ‘handkerchief’, for human faces. To absorb—I’m told—leakage?”

Miles unfolded the soft cotton, spun-fine. It had been exactingly embroidered with lines of faint silver. He knew the image in an instant: the circuit he’d drawn in children’s crayon. “_Starfleet_ schematics, Garak?” he prodded with a soft chuckle. “‘State secrets’? Now how would someone like you come by something like that?”

(It was only in jest; in truth, the circuit would do no more than illuminate a lightbulb.)

“My word, I couldn’t begin to guess. Merely something that came to me. ‘Divine inspiration’, do you suppose?”

Miles laughed. “‘Divine inspiration’ my arse, Mister Garak. But good eyes.”

He pressed his palms together, clenched perpendicular, and bowed deeply. “You have my sincerest thanks. I am glad to know… with what manners humans may host the child of a non-Federation race. It’s a civilized characteristic. Your mindfulness will be, to my mind, always endearing.”

“It was our _pleasure,_ Garak,” Keiko assured him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“It was our duty,” Miles attested.

And that earned a smile for both, for each in its own light.

//

Benjamin Sisko stood with his arms crossed. “Jake.”

His son assumed his most innocent-looking expression. (Alas, it had been some years since that had given him a free pass.) “Y-yeah, dad?”

“I heard you spent last night chaperoning Constable Odo. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I did. Did Worf tell you about that? I promise, one of us was sober. Well, two, if you count Odo—we didn’t let Quark have his way on that one.”

“And?” his father pressed.

Jake rubbed the corner of his mouth. “Aaand… we sang songs to him? And showed him funny videos? A-all age-appropriate, of course.”

Sisko dropped his arms and gave a great bellow. “Hah!”

“Is that a good-_Hah!_ or a bad-_Hah!_, dad?” Jake asked in feigned distress. Luckily, he already knew.

He brought his son into a broad bear hug.

“Dad!” He squirmed for his release, and Benjamin relented.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

“Would you be prouder without my hangover?”

The qualifier was ignored. “Jake, you showed what being a good parent is all about. And—more than that!—a good leader. You brought people together to do something important for someone else, someone who was just starting on their journey through this world. I just want to say, and now, say again: I’m proud of you. I’ve never been prouder. I’m only sorry I missed the opportunity to see it for myself.”

“Weeeeeeell,” Jake replied cheekily, “I did take pictures. What do you say, dad—got a moment?”

//

Old rituals would be respected.

Besides, a person having gone through trauma might very much enjoy a proper lunch.

Garak was pleased, indeed, to see Julian at the table. And early, for once.

“Still acclimating?” Julian asked, his long fingers threading themselves awkwardly through the handle of his mug. Tarkalean tea, extra-sweet (precisely as a child would prefer, although it was his standard order).

“Just a quick stop by the O’Brien’s. Offerings were made, proper compensation for their largesse,” Garak said, sitting across from his again-familiar lunch companion. “It required some thought on my part, getting the gifts just-so. I confess, between the two of us, it proved somewhat of a challenge; I’m not as close with their family as you are, and there’s only so much to be found on the promenade of a remote station. Now, if we were in Lakarian City, on the other hand—”

His face fell. “A present? Is that what one does for these things? Brings a gift?”

“They were marvelous hosts, don’t you agree?”

He sucked in a breath of air from between his teeth. One rap of his knuckles against the table gave it away. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way. Bugger.”

Garak smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to find something appropriate. Besides, your Mr. Kukalaka is still there. You can hand it off when you go to retrieve him.”

It took the doctor by surprise. “Oh, my bear!” He winced. “Sorry about all that.”

Garak raised a hand. “Oh, no harm done,” he said. “Besides, our association thrives on cultural exchange, doctor. I think we just had an opportunity to experience some of it firsthand.” He sighed loudly, almost theatrically. “Though a bear, _really._ It’s a very strange practice.”

“You thought him a fitting enough confessor,” Julian teased.

“I suppose I did. Children are terribly impressionable.”

“… That said, I’m sorry to have eavesdropped on your _shri-tal_. I promise you, having never met a Cardassian—”

It was deflected with a wave. “My dear doctor, I know that fully well, and no offense taken.” There was a playfulness in his eyes, something that had been absent as a child. It was strange to think that it was something he’d _attained._ “Besides, I have, perhaps, a second confession. What I told your precious Kukalaka was not precisely true.”

“Good grief, Garak, you’re a menace.”

“Well excuse me! I did not mean to imply it was _deceit._”

The addendum was met with puzzlement. “And how’s that, precisely? Some convoluted excuse in the definition of untruth?”

“You are, my dear doctor, casually excoriating. If only I’d known at the time, how cutting your people can be! No, no, nothing of the sort. I was the one who was misinformed. That my father waiting for me, I was indeed told. And I was very eager, true, to meet him.”

Julian’s back straightened. “It was him. That _was_ Enabran Tain.”

Garak sipped his tea. “Mm.”

It troubled the man. “Well, I’m sorry for that, then.”

“That I was made to wait longer?”

“That that’s who it was. Tain.”

Garak set down the cup with a sharp clink of ceramic. “I may have misunderstood you.”

“I just mean, I’m sorry you didn’t have a father who was, you know…. I’m just sorry your father was the Director of the Obsidian Order, that he brought you into… into all that.”

Garak blinked as though taken aback. (Hard to imagine that was ever completely true, but he mimicked it gloriously.) “_Director?_ My word, Julian, these alarming fantasies of yours…!”

There was a sigh. “Garak, don’t you think we’re a little _beyond_ pretending on that one?”

“I only mean he was not _Director_ at the time. Goodness gracious, do you think he was head of the Order for n—”

“For…?”

“Never mind. But that was, I would say, the highlight of the entire affair. I would have thought it impossible before today.”

Even a liar could have something true to say. In his way. That was something Julian knew about Garak, and trusted, after a fashion. “Pardon?”

“Cardassians are famed for our exceptional memories. Quite true—utterly accurate. You needn’t at all take my word. However, we remember _facts._ We remember _events_, precisely as they occurred_._ This opportunity, however, allowed me to remember… feelings. I’m sure you’ve had a similar experience. You remember, like yesterday, what it was like to have the memories you possessed as a child—still fresh. A tad disorienting, at first—”

“More than a little, I should jolly well say.”

“I had the chance to remember, immediately, my existence before my father was able to retrieve me. And… how things changed, once he did.” Garak licked his grey lips with one circumspect pink tongue. “Imagine, being a child of no one, and assigned to no purpose. The man who arrived was the exact opposite: a renowned agent of the Obsidian Order. And that man came to instruct me, to involve me in the ultimate expression of service to the Union. He came to convert me from what I was… to what I had the potential to be.”

“That man,” Julian reminded him, “was not much of a father. You’ve said so yourself. And as for his instruction, well….”

Garak shrugged. “As I explained, this experience refreshed my… perspective.” He opened his hands, as if welcoming. “That poor boy had no idea, not the slightest, of how very lucky he was, the powers watching over him. If your Federation had abducted me, as I feared, brought me here….” His expression was truly wistful. “You cannot imagine the consequences. What Tain would have done to this station.”

The doctor clasped his hands. He wore his discomfiture openly. “I would never have let them hurt you.”

It plucked Garak from his nostalgia. It took him a moment, away, to re-center. “My dear doctor, there would have been nothing you could do,” he replied. “But I do believe you would have tried. And I should say, I appreciate that almost—no. I appreciate that just as much.”

“Well,” Julian countered, “I mean it just as much today. You may not have Enabran Tain looking over your shoulder, but you bloody well know you have me.”

It was worthy of some consideration. “An upstanding sentiment, indeed. Thank you, doctor. I shall try to be worthy of it.”

//

“Quark!!”

Things in life change. However, there was some comfort to be derived from the fact one thing in life did not (and, one would imagine, never would): Odo’s precise intonation. He barked the name like an invocation.

Quark nearly dropped his glass. Instead, his slate-blue fingernails clenched it tightly. He finished the perfunctory wipe and set it down on the countertop, casually as he could. “O-Odo! Well, don’t you look… normal… aged?”

“H’rmph.”

(_Two_ things never changed.)

The Ferengi shrugged, his padded shoulders hunching exaggeratedly. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do for you? The bar doesn’t open for another hour, but I could make a legal—wholly legal!—exception for you, Constable. What will it be, a game of dom-jot?”

Odo leaned in. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. That’s not why I’ve come by.”

Quark weighed it in his mind: run? Hide? Beg for mercy? “Well, my humble establishment is, as always, at your disposal.”

The changeling rolled its eyes. “As much as it pains me to say this, Quark, I have not come by to arrest you. Not this time. In fact, I was much closer to registering a formal reprimand for Lieutenant Worf.”

“O-oh? Well, I suppose we can let bygones be bygones….”

Odo sighed again. It was a privilege of lungs he was known to enjoy. “I am here to _thank_ you.”

It took the bartender aback. He pressed a hand to his breast. “Thank me? _Me?_ Why, Odo….”

“H’rmph. Indeed.” (It was distressing enough to both.) “But the fact of the matter is, I now have two experiences of being a youngling. In one, I was branded an _experiment_, and later a _curiosity_ and then a _resource._ In the other, I was—I might say—a child_._ The way that solids treat their own. No container, no stasis box. And the opportunity to learn on gentler terms.”

Quark’s heavy brow furrowed further. He paused, juggling a few responses, calculating the outcome of one over another. “No one likes to be cooped up.” (Maybe he could try that, later, when Odo mused of holding cells.) “Glad that freedom suited you.”

Odo nodded. “It did.”

“Well, Odo, if you ever choose to make good on that freedom, we have the very best dabo tables in—”

“No. Thank you.” He maneuvered himself onto one of Odo’s barstools. Amazingly, he couldn’t recall ever having sat in one before. Only in passing, as a solid, where the memory of a fixed body and its tragic biological ass was thankfully already foreign—another life he lived, and there but briefly. “However, come to think of it: you can pour me a drink.”

“A drink?”

“Is this enough?” Odo replied, dropping two slips of latinum from his palm.

Quark laughed. “Ah! Ah-ah-ah! I taught you that!”

“No, Quark,” Odo replied, his gravelly voice belying his amusement. “These are real. I haven’t much need for them, as I’ve told the Bajoran government countless times—but they pay me all the same. Something about labor standards. However, I figure that’s more than ample for a drink. Two ideally.”

“Two?”

“Yes, Quark. One for you, and one for me. That is sufficient, I am told, for a toast.”

Quark brightened. His hands found their way, almost automatically, to two extravagantly tacky glasses. “A toast!”

Excitement like that deserved a smile, and Odo chose to construct one just for the occasion. “That’s right, Quark. To second chances.”

Quark selected a bright, green liquor, and began to pour the shots. Knowing Odo had no taste-buds, it was only fair to opt for grubwine—both very cheap and disturbingly appetizing to the Ferengi palate. “There we are. To a second chance at childhood. And a perfect pour, just look at that.”

Odo tapped the rim, announcing the correction. “To a second chance at first impressions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're all done. Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'll now return to RESTORE, REMAKE, & REBUILD.
> 
> I appreciate your comments. Have a wonderful day! ♡


End file.
